Sentimental Journey
by Beenie
Summary: Translation of "Nostalgie Trip". What's eating at Chase? Determined to find out, House takes his young lover to Paris, the city where they first met by accident when Chase was still a child. Will the trip be successful and reveal some carefully hidden secrets of Robert's past? ER, Slash, HousexChase. Set in S3.
1. Chapter 1

_**A /**__**N:**_ _This is the attempt to reply to the request of some of you asking if I could translate some parts of my epic. So here's the first chapter of "Nostalgie Trip". Please let me know what you think so I know if it's worth the effort to continue.  
_

_A big Thank you to the wonderful Summer Laura who so kindly beta-ed it. _

_I know you're more than busy right now, so it's just the more appreciated! xxx_

* * *

Chase and House live together, but their relationship is fraught with uncertainty and doubts. Especially Chase can't believe that he has made some kind of a home with House.

He remembered. And was ashamed to have forgotten about him. Little Robert Chase, with whom he'd roamed around Paris for two days. The Tuileries, ice-cream and movies. That night at the B&B near Place Vendome, where he'd been shocked to discover that the boy was a victim of domestic violence. Where the little one had slept comfortably in the double bed until he had woken him up to satisfy his wish of climbing the Eiffel Tower - an unsuccessful endeavour due to a traumatic experience from Robert's childhood.

Still, it had been lovely. Just to be with him, knowing that by spending his time with him he made up for the things the boy had a need of.

Material things, by contrast, had had little to no value at all; the boy was probably being showered with those at home. Just not with things that really mattered.

Naturally he'd replaced the boy's blood-stained trousers after his fall and when that little mannequin had enchanted him so much he'd gone into a proper shopping frenzy. However, for emotionally neglected Chase it had been House who'd been the high point of the weekend, not the new clothes - so much so that he'd thought him to be a wizard, even though at the age of eleven one wasn't really supposed to believe in such things any more.

He'd taken him back to the B&B after visiting a night club. His father hadn't called once, he'd apparently not been missing his son at all. House had vowed to confront Rowan Chase after little Robert had tearfully confessed to the cause of the bruises on his soft skin. So as a precaution he'd let the boy sleep in the next morning instead of taking him along to the Ritz where the rheumatologist had taken up quarters.

He hadn't actually met him there, though. It had been a two-day conference and as uncaring as Dr Chase was towards his adventurous offspring, as diligent was he about his work.

After the doorman had told him that one of his colleagues had taken to playing nanny for the boy, he'd just gone back to his usual routine without even making sure that his only child was in good hands. Apparently, House had even back then been known to be trustworthy, to both patients and colleagues. And even though he hadn't been aware of it at the time he had been secretly glad to be able to spend his weekend with the little boy instead of sitting inside a stuffy hotel conference hall.

The conference was going ahead without him and he wasn't even sorry about it because there was that little boy clinging to his arm, marvelling at just about everything. Needing him.

For the first time in his life he'd felt like he knew what it could be like to be with someone who enjoyed this bond in an entirely selfless manner.

Their relationship had been one of mutual reciprocality, just the way it was now. There was no other way with Chase. He would never think of exploiting him, it just wasn't in his nature. He liked to give and he took without being greedy. As a child the latter had come easier to him.

They'd done a boat cruise on the Seine, gone for ice-cream and café au lait, taken a stroll through Montmartre, where every painter had hollered and whistled after the pretty blonde, sun-tanned boy, wanting to do a study of him - in the end Robert had timidly pushed up against him and quickly crossed the square.

He had made him eat crêpes and other regional delicacies because he'd been much too thin for his age. And because he enjoyed eating himself. With a naturalness only to be found in children the little one had eaten it all up, walking next to him, sometimes close to him, in blissful grace.

He hadn't even shied away from a bowl of scallop-soup, though he'd preferred crêpes with cinnamon and sugar above all else, washed down with a mug of apple juice, which he'd kept drinking like a champion - and later suffered the consequences when he'd gotten diarrhea.

And yet, House fondly remembered all of this.

His own high spirits had been crowned with the laughter of a child who didn't have much to be happy about in his everyday life. Everything they had done together had felt magical. Robert's small hand that had pushed itself tentatively, yet trusting into his own - because he'd felt secure this way.

He'd felt so touched that he'd had to swallow hard and if he could he'd never let the little one's hand go.

The stairs up to Sacre Coeur had seemed never-ending, but Robert had taken them with the agility of a rubber ball, just to ask him, once inside, whether he minded if he said a short prayer for his estranged parents.

He hadn't minded at all and had watched in awe the little boy dipping his fingers into the stoup and crossing himself, just to share his misery in silent conversation afterwards, without so much as a tear or a facial expression that could have given his feelings away.

It had been silly, really, but he'd hardly been able to choke back his tears.

When the boy had returned to his side he'd given him a quick, spontaneous hug and whispered a blissful Thank you. It was at this point that even the most cold-hearted thug would have been bound to give up his demand for a ransom - even though he hadn't known at the time that the little one was from a respected and wealthy family. He'd merely suspected it judging by the boy's good manners.

The lump in his throat had prevented him from responding and he'd left the church with the boy, pointlessly wishing that his prayer would come true in every respect.

That evening, when too many tears had streamed across the little face, he'd failed to get a hold of Dr Chase and he'd suspected that a guilty conscience had made him deliberately avoid him. He'd found that he couldn't even judge him for that, thinking that he would have done the same thing. Though, of course, he wouldn't have dreamed of abandoning his son in this manner.

Robert had hardly been able to say goodbye to him and had skillfully put his puppy-eyes to good use to put off the return to the hotel and therefore the final farewell. He'd found it impossible to understand how anyone could leave this sweet, uncomplicated and affectionate child to a stranger's care - and in a strange city as well. Over two days Chase had given him the greatest gift, something he'd been lacking even back then - the knowledge that he could still feel something, that he was important to another person.

They had waited in the foyer until midnight, and he'd cradled the dozing boy in his arms and sung to him. Finally, when he'd been sure that the boy was fast asleep, he'd handed him over to the doorman with a heavy heart and left a message for his father.

oOo

The next day the Chases had gone back to Down Under. He'd set his alarm and still he had missed them. He didn't have an address to write to and after a while he'd forgotten that unusual little Aussie. His longstanding substance abuse had made him forget a lot of things, but this shouldn't have happenend. He should have kept in touch. Somehow he should have tracked Chase down and maybe he could have spared him some of the things that had permanently tortured him ever since.

In fact, Chase hadn't been that different back then to the way he was now. Maybe a bit more open, just the usual for a child to be, but not much. The things that had come after - his father walking out on them, his mother turning to alcohol and her subsequent death four years later - had informed his personality. To think that House would have decidedly changed this development simply by giving Daddy a piece of his mind was presumptuous, but he just couldn't help feeling this way.

Not that he wanted to change him, but just a tad more confidence couldn't hurt. He wasn't to blame, no matter what had happened, and he could keep telling him as long as he liked - deep down Chase knew already, and yet he just couldn't let it go. Whenever he lost control over something he always blamed himself. As perfect as he was on the outside, this was definitely his biggest flaw.

oOo

After hours, his young employee and now-lover returned to his office. He looked at him affectionately, as if he wanted to keep him in his memory forever. Perhaps this was true, though he would never forget him like he did fifteen years ago; the disharmonious broad bridge of the nose, the beautiful sensual lips, the elongated chin. His velvet skin that had grown a bit paler since back then when he met him as a little boy lost.

Sometimes he seemed to be crying out silently for touch. This, among a thousand other things, was something that attracted House to Chase - the desire to be touched by him, to experience long neglected endearment. The younger man wouldn't have be that ravenous if Daddy Chase had overcome his lack of caring and acted like a father. House didn't feel gratitude towards him, though, nor did he feel gratitude towards his own stepfather, the man whose actions allowed House to discover a bit of himself in Chase. This, obviously, had been the reason to go beyond his beliefs and convictions.

His reactions hadn't been the same, though. House himself had confronted his father with open rebellion. Chase had looked up Rowan until he realised it was pointless; that it wasn't worth the effort. You can't change people, can't make them do something you want them to even if you depend on the mood swings of an alcoholic mother. It doesn't make things easier when you're soft and cute and pining for something the ones close to you are not willing to give, a basic need of every child. Robert had to buy that affection by taking care of his mother instead the other way round. He surely did love her, otherwise he wouldn't have stayed with her to the very end, however House doubted the fact that she herself had been capable of giving love.

In his own family, his mother made up for the emotional distance of his father's, Chase, he never had anything like that; no cuddling, no goodnight kiss, and if so, it had been whisky flavoured; a kiss Mommy couldn't remember five seconds later when she was chasing him through the house in order to find her stash in secretly hidden places.

He would have to take Chase to his mother's some time soon. She had done him good. Mom, with her almost frantic caring manner, had prevented him from the emotional coldness of John House. At least that's what one should be thinking, but his superior behaviour had overtaken her big heart. There had been no feelings inside him apart from the desire not to end up like his father. He didn't succeed. Yes, he was different. Better? Not necessarily.

In retrospect, he'd gladly beat Chase senior right into his grave hoping that he'd turn in his coffin with anger because of his son's unconventionality, because of the future that he'd planned out for Robert which he'd abandoned entirely. Nobody should be allowed to act like a coldhearted bastard when it comes to their offspring. Certainly not when one reacts as sensitively as Chase who, after finally seeing the truth had withdrawn from his father entirely.

"Ready to go home?" Chase asked with a twitching smile. He sat down in front of House, picking up the ball on his desk letting roll between the palms of his hands. "Or is there something we need to talk about?"

"Aside from our honeymoon, no."

Chase's brow frowned in amazement as he turned around to gaze at him. House was crossing the room heading for his jacket on the wardrobe racks.

"Our honeymoon?"

"Yes. In Paris. The city of love. I don't know how to refer to it otherwise. It sounds pathetic either way. But the city is supposed to be lovely this time of year. Consider it a reward for a wonderful time."

Snorting in disbelief Chase rose from his chair. Still, he thought of the whole idea as some joke, but House could see in his eyes that he was afraid of him changing his mind or persuading him to do something he didn't approve of. As for the physical aspect of their relationship, he wasn't yet used to it. Maybe he never would be until they went their separate ways again. However, House wasn't going to let it end, even if mentioning Paris implied debauchery or a soon-to-be break up.

"What are we gonna do there? I don't think Cuddy will give us the time off."

"I got on my hands and knees and offered myself to her so she had no choice. I made a mistake long ago. I want to make up for it with our little trip."

Finally, he burst out with laughter. It didn't sound like relief, more like suspicion. House knew why. His suggestion must have sounded like a swan song in the younger man's ears. The culmination of a fertile bond that had taken a turn for a misanthropic cripple and which he wasn't able to control any more.

"I don't know what you mean. You never make mistakes."

House didn't bother to clarify and it wasn't in Chase's nature to inquire further. On the one hand he appreciated this quality. On the other, it could be almost appalling. Just like Rowan's indifference - different, of course, but none the less irritating. But, his alleged indifference had its reasons. He was scared of annoying him. Of losing him.

_Talk to me. That's what I'm here for._

On the back of the motorcycle, he snuggled up close to him and got a tighter grip as usual. It was his way of communicating. It told him more than words would have done. Still, he would have liked to hear them.

oOo

Having reached home, Chase walked straight into the kitchen. One of his countless positive characteristics was the pleasure that he took in preparing meals. He's gotten more and more experimental since the influence of Wilson's Ashkenazi cooking and was trying out recipes House was the beneficary of. Every one was as delicious as the other.

Since they were heading towards the weekend he reared a special dish. The aroma of onions, barley and beans united to an irresistible temptation, just as irresistible as the cook himself.

As soon as he stood in front of the oven, he forgot everything around him. Whatever he did, he did with great drive and pride. With a stomach ache that wasn't caused by hunger, House realised that Chase's loyalty and devotion had been honoured much too late. Honoured much too late by him, the cranky boss whose sarcasm had been wasted on the boy. If he could wish for anything to be unsaid, it would have been the mocking at the expense of Chase's.

Unlike Foreman or Cameron he never defied him. He had been marked as a swot and this provoked House even more. It was in his nature to play the misunderstood outsider.

House sneaked up on him from behind in order to look inside the cooking pot and earned a hoarse, clearly aroused noise coming from Chase's throat as he leaned against him, pressing the back of his head on his shoulder. He enjoyed being wooed while cooking. It was almost like a little ritual that never grew old.

"If it was up to me, I'd never let you go," he whispered, his lips brushing that silky hair, soft as a child's, taking strands between his teeth as he did so. "Just because of your culinary experimentation. It wouldn't just be the food I missed if you were gone."

"You don't have to miss anything. I'm here."

"I don't know," he muttered, going instinctively for his mouth. He couldn't help but conceal a bit of sadness in his voice. "Sometimes I think I've been dreaming. Or we both have. You won't stay forever. I wouldn't want you to. Otherwise I'd be ruining your future. Like your father did."

"I've met you because of him," Chase reminded him. "Maybe in another way than he imagined, but it doesn't matter any more. I am happy with you. That's not so wrong, is it?"

Overwhelmed with joy House nibbled on the soft skin of his lips, wandering upwards to his nose and forehead, pulling him into his arms. In those arms, Chase found some relaxation. He sighed and lowered his eyelids. Statements like this embarrassed him. They shouldn't. House loved his Aussie and he was allowed to tell him everything. Even things that were pathetic when spoken aloud.

The pervasive smell of burning food made Chase spin around before he switched off the plate and turned the food in haste. Standing in each other's arms whilst food burned behind them was almost a ritual in itself.

Strangly, Chase didn't find it funny today. Sobbing hard he tried to save the rest of the beef, wiping his hand desperately over his face.

"I'm a huge fan of burned beef, " House assured him, but it didn't come as solace to Chase.

Supper and the packing of suitcases were done in silence. House didn't worry too much about it since they were both men of few words at times, but he sensed some melancholy about adult Chase that wasn't unlike the sadness of kid Chase back then. Somehow he had to get through to him, to stir up his hidden anticipation about their trip.

"You still got your stuffed toy? The hideous one-eyed monster? Teddy, wasn't it?"

"Tony", he corrected, smiling for the first time that evening. Carefully he folded a shirt to put in the suitcase. The thoughtfulness with which he folded and packed was something akin to meditation. "No. Aside from that, you have a much better memory than I have. Maybe I have told you about him, but I never said he had one eye. That's not true."

"Pity. I hoped you could take him with you."

"Why Paris, House?"

He sat beside the suitcase, stuffed full, as if he was getting ready to travel around the world. The smell of starched cotton flattered House's nostrils and he navigated the younger man on his lap. His mouth grazed over the fluff on his neck that still felt as tender as sixteen years ago. Closing his eyes, he could vividly remember the boy standing in front of him wearing nothing but his hipsters and a shirt. His beguiling pout when he had told him he required an extensive examination as it was feared that he was hurt.

"Because that's where I first met you. I want to get to know you better now. And I wish you were eleven again. Could you pretend? For me?"

In sheer confusion Chase turned his head and weezed helplessly. But he kept silent. House began stroking his hair with his hand wandering down the spine to rest on his stomach. His legs intertwined backwards around House's as he leaned on him. It was a strange, yet arousing feeling to have him sit upon his lap without giving in to the desire of taking him to show him what he meant to him.

oOo

A note was lying on the pillow next to him. Chase's bed was a mess and empty. Sleepy, House reached for the piece of paper torn from the appointment book he misused as some kind of diary. In capitals, he wrote him a message. House rolled on his back, holding the note far away so he was able to read it without searching for his glasses.

What he had to read turned his blood into ice. It seemed like a goodbye letter. It scared him.

_I don't know how to put it in proper words. I don't want to go to Paris. We had some good times. I want to remember them. The fact that you mean so much to me often makes me feel insecure. I obviously mean something to you, too, and that's where things get complicated. Neither of us are used to caring about anyone but ourselves._

As if you didn't show me that even I am capable of caring, House thought.

_Our bond was something special but it was clear to both of us that it wasn't to be forever. Sometimes I believe it would have been better not to get to know you the way I do now. You are my boss. I couldn't stop myself from wanting more but I'm torturing you so it is best I leave. Yesterday you said you've made a mistake. You never did. Maybe it was me. Please forgive me._

Startled, he got out of bed, much quicker than his bum leg allowed him to. He stumbled down the hallway and opened the front door. If he was lucky he could reach the boy in time; the sheets of his bed had still been covered with the warmth of his skin.

He should have noticed by the stuffed suitcase that had disappeared with Chase, by his restlessness and the shy affection with which he had said his goodbyes, begging him silently not to be mad about his final decision. Chase wasn't used to it like he was. Something inside of him drove him further, made him move on, leaving behind what once was good for him. Having a relationship was far more difficult for him than it was for House.

In addition to that, he had not taken into account that Chase was a man, a regular guy whose dreams were about the perfect symbioses with a girl. As for House, he considered his life fulfilled with Chase. He didn't think of changing that habit. Some excitement and quarrels now and then didn't do no harm in his opinion. Spiced their relationship up a bit. It never got boring with him, however, he had gone too far this time.

"Chase!"

He yelled. Loud enough to make the neighbours curiously open the window. His car and motorcycle were still parked, hence he presumably Chase was on his way to take the bus. Where to? It could have been to the hospital. Apparently he was about to quit so that they'd never have to see each other again. Crazy, stubborn boy. What if he was up to something that would take him away from him for good? The mere thought got to his stomach.

He called the hospital, but just as he had expected Chase hadn't been there.

He put on his clothes and soared up the motorcycle.

Chase's loft was freezing cold, but he could smell the presence of his lover underneath the dust and the adamantly remaining smoke of cigarettes. A breeze of cotton and Chase. Exhausted from taking the stairs, he entered the room.

Sitting on the bed, Chase glared at him with big eyes. He didn't move. Water was running into the jacuzzi that House gave him as a gift for his birthday last year.

Neither of them spoke as House sat beside him. As his leg began to twitch, Chase slowly stroked it to ease the pain. The real magic was his hands.

"I wanted to take a bath," he started to explain awkwardly.

"Before running off to Qantas. I read your message. What did I do?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. I can't go to France with you."

Cautiously, House pulled him closer, his hand in his hair. He was shivering.

"Because I left you there on your own."

"Dad was with me. I don't blame you."

Dad, of course, had been furious about his son's adventurous spirits. A hypocrite. He had been playing the relieved father for House, while shortly afterwards lectured his boy how wrong he been for trusting a stranger. A lecture probably wasn't the only punishment he suffered.

Ridden with guilt, House caressed the younger man's neck. He had had time. He should have had waited to be of some support to the boy in his argument with his father, a father who would not listen to him. Who did not care.

"I shouldn't have left you. I wanted to talk to your father about you but I was too much a coward to wait for him. Maybe everything would be different now if I had. I was wrong about what I said to you back then. Your father was an idiot. The biggest jerk one can imagine. Come with me to Paris. I like travelling with you, and you always have enjoyed it, right? We could revive the spirit of nostalgia. What else do I do with the tickets if you refuse to go? They are already booked. Cameron wouldn't say no, fair enough, but I want to have you with me. It would make no sense without you."

Together, they entered the jacuzzi. He didn't have his answer yet, but he was far away from pushing Chase. A bath would hopefully take the edge off his troubled mind.

"I had nightmares," Chase said out of the blue, playing with House's fingers, putting them to his lips in a light kiss. The gesture was new and it aroused him more than he was willing to admit to himself.

"After you were gone. I would have liked to go with you. I firmly believed your plane would crash or something bad happened to you because I didn't want my father any more and I wanted to be with you instead. I thought I was being punished for having had much more fun in your care than in my father's. My mother laughed at me when I told her about you. I had no proof that you even existed, She didn't even talk to Dad. She said I was dreaming and making it up. Later I made this believe myself, too. But the clothes you had purchased in that shopping mall, I kept them like a treasure. I intended to write to you, to tell you how much I had appreciated being in your care for the weekend, but I only had your first name. I really would have liked to have told you. I wanted you to know I wasn't pissed about your departure. You appeared like a wizard and you vanished like a wizard. You've helped me believe in fairy tales. I have been thinking a lot of you."

Embarrassed about the memory of his childish behaviour then, he snorted.

"I just hope my message in a bottle has never reached you."

"Let's go to Paris," House said. "It could be fun."


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later they were standing at the check-in line for United Airlines. Chase still seemed a little unsure as he looked attentively at House who passed the tickets over at the counter.

"You turn me around completely," House muttered in Chase's ear and put his arm around him to push the young man forward. Chase moved as if in a trance. As if sleepwalking. As if he were mentally not there at all. "I never liked traveling until you came along."

oOo

It was hard to believe, but the B&B they had stayed in was still there. House purposefully led Chase there. His eyes nearly fell out of his head in amazement. The rooms had been renovated, House told him, but he recognised the foyer immediately. The prepared peacock. The eerie creaking wooden stairs.

Everything was so much smaller than back then. He brushed slowly over the plumage of the bird. It had not been allowed, and yet he had to repeat his story of that time as if he was under a compulsion. Maybe in a spring there was still the sweat from his little hand. The discovery was exciting. The doorman was new but wouldn't have remembered them anyway had he been the same.

While House registered at the front desk, Chase looked around the lobby. It had seemed as huge as the vestibule of a knight's hall. Exotic and full of secrets. It was still - but so tiny!

"The peacock is well over a hundred years old," the doorman told him with undisguised pride and a heavy French accent. "He was in the studio of Toulouse-Lautrec. A famous painter."

Chase almost could feel his aching knees as he hurried up the steps behind the tall figure of House's into the old room. He was now faster. Faster than sixteen years ago, when his legs had been shorter.

As he remembered the moment when House offered to carry up him because his knee had been sore from falling flat on the stairs in the gardens of Tullerien, he choked back the sobs; the tears that threatened to fall. Full of vigour and energy, House had never been tired of dragging him around. He had not changed much. The cane that came along with the infarction had not made him small, even if he sometimes claimed so.

The B&B had a seemingly antiquated Paternoster as it was known from mafia movies, but for nostalgic reasons, House took the laborious ascent. If he had actually supported him then, he would not have shied away from doing it again, Chase knew. Such bizarre ideas were quite to his taste.

At first it had been uncomfortable and embarrasing. After all, eleven year old boys were not babies any more. The more times he had carried him, however, the more natural it became. His parents had never done would never have confessed it but he had longed to be lifted, to feel his warmth that surrounded him like a blanket, and the fragrance that was reminiscent of his father. Just a little more spicy. But it occurred to him there never had been someone as close as House. Actually, never anyone like him.

In his arms, he had felt great and looked after. House had taught him that it was alright and he certainly wasn't a baby any more. House had allowed him to be a child, literally forced him to make up for what his parents had missed, and indeed so vehement, yet subtle, that shame had had no place.

Suddenly he felt like hugging him, just like that.

House unlocked the door and let him go first, letting him pass through underneath his arm. Suddenly, all memories streamed back to him. The fluttering curtain in front of the tilted window, dusty air in dingy gloom even in broad daylight. His fear of his own courage to go with a stranger who must have bewitched him.

He recalled the physical examination that he had been so ashamed of because he could not betray his father. House insisted on getting him undressed. He had been nice. Sensible and not overly friendly, not a bit the way his parents had always portrayed strangers. From then on he'd had puzzling confidence in the American; his wizard Greg. He truly had referred to him like that. Childish, but to the point.

Gasping for breath, he put down the bag and closed his eyes. Behind his lids appeared the old room. The downed paisley wallpaper had been replaced by an orange paint, the furniture modern, but it was still arranged as before. A few things had been lost over the years. Only the hall and the prints on the walls revealed something of the old charm of an Art Nouveau hotel.

A grinding sound told him that House had come up behind him.

"Chase? Do you need your inhaler? I've never seen you use it since you grew up. Maybe you hide your flaws. It would not surprise me. "

"I haven't got asthma any more," he said. "I grew out of it in early puberty."

"I have blotted it out," House recognized with the undeniable penchant for arrogance. Nevertheless, it must have been that way. At a subsequent attack, he could not remember.

Instinctively, he compared House to the man of the time when they first met. The age and the chronic pain had dug deep furrows in his face. Meanwhile, his hair was turning gray. Shuddering, he realized that House had been not much older than he himself was today. And yet, he had seemed so adult.

The time difference of six hours gnawed at him, he felt crushed. More than eight hours they had spent on the plane.

The carpet was still the same. He imagined the edges of a faded blood stain, which was nonsense. Probably the last guest had spilled some red wine.

"You were nice," he said, trembling. "I was terribly afraid, but you understood. You took the fear away from me."

"And you were amazing. I had almost forgotten myself as you had posed in your exhilarating boyish nudity in front of me. That doesn't mean you sparkle any less now. You're like a pin-up. "

Too tired to mimic indignation, Chase turned and fumbled at House's collar. That warm, soothing breath on his neck he remembered most vividly. It had not been part of the physical examination, and yet in that very moment, he had had House to consider as a friend.

With a feeling that expressed shame and joy at the same time, he leaned in the taller man for a hug.

"Shall we sleep?" he mumbled to the stubbly throat.

House sighed comfortably. His fingers lay lightly but possessively around his butt.

"You want to sleep and not play? I am a bit disappointed. "

He yawned. "Which bedside did you have? "

"The right one. You slept towards the window. But not for long."

Grinning, he pulled back the blanket.

"Some habits die hard. "

In the very noisy night he was too excited to find some sleep. House lay still next to him but he could occasionally see the whites of his eyes sparkle when the light changed out.

At last he rose and tiptoed to the window. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the play of light bulbs. When it had been finished, as the lights came on in full, he had clapped his hands with delight, and House had hooted and applauded too, while they were walking along the Seine. Not for a moment he had doubted that House had a hand in the game and he brought the tower to shine.

He held an inexplicable sadness down in his throat while he sat on the wide ledge with his head bowed.

_A favour for a good time._

Was it too late now?

Sinewy arms closed around him, a muscular chest pressed against his after he had automatically spread his legs for him to feel him close. His home. It did not matter where he was staying. Any place where House had been was home. If that changed he would go crazy. Suddenly he began to sniffle.

"Chase."

His last name spoke more significance than his first name that he hardly ever used. "What's on your mind? I wanted to make you happy. Turns out I'm doing something wrong."

He shook his head, bedding it on House's shoulder.

"That's not true... I am happy. It's just... I do not know what. Maybe I really had been confused about you leaving me. For the first time, I had a real friend, and everyone I've told about you, they laughed at me. Because people like you don't really exist anymore. Maybe I'm just tired. "

For a while there was silence. He could hear only his own breath, panting and despicably treacherously. A sob vibrated in his throat that House dampened with gentle pressure against his lower abdomen. Even for that he would like to hug him if he were not already.

"Come back to bed? Or do we want to stir up the Parisian nightlife a bit? "

He would have liked being dragged down the hall, being rocked to sleep in House's arms. Just like after the nightmare about his mother years ago. Strange, how vividly it stood before his eyes. It was almost painful to think about it. He hated memories of his childhood. At that time he had not even cared about a diary to write down his experiences and thoughts. But House was the one to have been unforgettable.

"I want some fresh air, "he said." If it's okay. "

oOo

As soon as they were outside, Chase reached for his arm.

The night was clear, full of stars and typically French. Accordion music rang out from somewhere and the air smelled like pancakes. Attracted by the scent, they found the first stall and bought two. Cinnamon and sugar and a cup of apple juice.  
Chase smiled. "You still remember. I did not tolerate that stuff."

"You were crazy about it. And I should have known better. I felt terribly incompetent. You haven't told Daddy, have you?"

He reached for Chase's neck and pushed him into a passing kiss on the temple. Something worrying was on his mind which he could not talk about. House would have to be patient.

Chase's sharp teeth bit on the sweet, folded pancake, and he gave a sound of the highest delight. They continued to walk down the road leading to the Tuileries.

"Somewhere here you were eloping my care." House threw his empty cider drunk in a high arc into the nearest trash can. "Do you remember?"

He nodded. "That was stupid."

"You were already faster than me. Without the stairs and your inattention you would have been up and away. Once you realize that fighting is not worth it, you take off running. I think this is the largest and perhaps the only difference between us."

Once again, he lowered his eyes. "I didn't want to be a burden..."

"You knew you weren't. Just the same as today. "

"I did not know," he insisted defiantly. His eyes sparkled. "I was never important to my parents for my own sake. Why would I be important to a stranger?"

The astonishingly emotional statement was uttered with the same tone he might discuss the weather and the silent knowledge made him hurt inside. But he could not contradict both, and he did not know if Chase had valued his confession. He knew him too little and yet too well.

_I'm sorry. I would not leave you. I did not know what you were going through. The truth is that I refused to know. I was as ignorant as your Dad._

For a brief moment he thought he would go on talking. But he turned his head and changed the subject.

"Can we go back?"

He sounded just like always, his voice a bit brittle.

In the hotel room House pulled Chase close to him, hoping he would understand. He would have liked to point out that he meant so much more to him than what was happening on the surface between them and that he would like him to put enough trust in him to talk. From the beginning, even though he had disguised his concern with taunts, he felt that Chase had awakened something emotional buried deep inside of him.

But he would obstruct him in the future. One of his biggest fears was that Chase was clinging to him, was dependent on him - this little martyr, to whom he had been educated. Although he had claimed to be satisfied in their relationship, House did not want anyone to be in chains. Not even the boy, without whom he could not imagine a regular life anymore. The world would be dark again without Chase.

Last year had been enriched by many experiences. Not all had been good, but they had survived together and enjoyed the beauty of it all the more.

Chase returned his hug fiercely, as if he had been waiting for it. His mouth was close to his, and he allowed himself to caress the wonderfully curved lips to meet them without pushing him.

Mild sweat mingled with his perspiration as he pushed back his hair, placing the healthy leg over his hip. He would not give up on him. Never.

The predicament they found themselves in seemed insurmountable. Telling signals emanated from the lithe body, while the boy let out devotedly subdued, sensual sounds, rumbling deep in his throat.

"Hey," he whispered, amused. "Are we moving too fast?"

"I don't want to be eleven," he muttered, and rolled off of him. Shortly thereafter, he fell asleep.

Filtering through the blinds, the sun rays fell into the room and House noticed that Chase had not released him during the night. As a child clutching his teddy bear he grabbed him, his nose flattened into House's upper arm. He woke him with a gentle movement of the shoulder, whereupon he blinked sleepily, propping up on his elbow in disorientation. A hesitant smile crept across the well-proportioned, tender face. Luckily, he had apparently recovered somewhat from last night.

"_Bonjour. J'ai bien dormi_," he said in fluent French. "I thought I was dreaming. But we really are in Paris. "

"Then it's time for a dream start to the day, what do you think?"

They took off for breakfast. When they were about to cross the street to the cafés, House reached for his hand. Puzzled, Chase stopped himself.

"Still the little hothead. Has no-one taught you to look left and right? "

"Oh." He laughed, that deep, light-hearted laughter that would warm up the older man's heart. It belonged only to him. Chase should never lose his laughter. When he thought about it precisely, it sounded different than in the clinic. Free and confident.

"Was this the very spot? I can not remember so well."

"You were lucky that I was planning to skip the conference anyway. Or at least not to peek in before enjoying a good breakfast. The croissants in the B&B were not half as good as yours at the Boulangerie. "

He didn't let his hand go as they went for the other side of the road. Exactly as back then. Only that his cane helped them to reach their destination safely, now.

oOo

Chase did not dare tell him that he was convinced a higher power had brought them together almost two decades ago. The pragmatic House would not understand, mocking his theory.

But his faith had helped him to manage and cope with crises, somehow. From this he drew strength, then more than now. Sometimes he wished he still had it to the same degree of belief as he had as a boy.

He'd helped him through so many difficulties. He had believed the tall man to be a sort of celestial figure. In the memory of the wooden John Baptist in the native chapel he had to smile. Did John not even rely on a cane in his right hand, with which he had traversed the desert?

The cozy, slightly shabby Boulangerie, where they had met shortly after House's courageous rescue, had made way for a clothing-store. Disappointed, he slowed his pace, although he had expected the environment to be changed. For him the event was more than half a lifetime ago. The very fact that the B&B had survived, albeit in slightly altered guise, was amazing, a pleasant surprise.

His gaze swept over the shop windows, which he did not perceive. Mass-produced. Faceless stores.

House ruffled his hair, a gesture that meanwhile was so much taken for granted between them. But he was not sure whether or not House only played with him.

"There are other bistros," he said consolingly. "Shall I buy a t-shirt here? There's one with Spiderman."

Despite the rhetoric of the question, he said no.

In a somewhat seedy street cafe they settled and looked for a window seat, from which one could see the pedestrians walk by. Almost the same again. Just a pity that he Madame on the self-service counter no longer was here, for who, he had placed an order now in her native language. However, she would long since retired anyway.

"What did your food cost?" House teased him as he threw the jacket on the bench and then hoisted to the bistro stool surprisingly graceful. "Do you remember?"

He had looked up the course, after he was home again. That he had not informed beforehand, he had been embarrassed about, and his face turned red. What a silly boy he had been!

Now he laughed and was pleased that House remembered the old joke. Thousand francs for a continental breakfast. House had wanted him to pay that amount.

"About two hundred U.S. dollars, two hundred Australian dollars or one hundred and fifty euros."

Impressed, House whistled through his teeth. "That must have been a truly royal breakfast."

"It was," he confirmed seriously, lowering his head and picked at his cuticles. "I've never paid you back. I invite you."

"Oh come on. You were a half starved charmeur that hadn't a thousand francs in his tiny Super Mario-wallet. Any unreasonable man would have given you a free meal. In addition, it has long been barred. Francs, there are now no more. "

The breakfast came. What exactly he had eaten had escaped him. Not House. Twice the service with a friendly smile served croissants, crepes, a soft-boiled egg and cocoa.

It surprised Chase that most young Frenchwomen met his stereotype. She looked graceful like Audrey Hepburn and Amélie from the fabulous world with whom he could identify so shockingly well. The tag on her blouse indeed said Amélie.

A fabulous world he had also invented to escape everyday life, but it always caught up with him again. In contrast to Amélie he had never been allowed to be a dreamer.

The parallels to his own life had thrown him completely off balance. He had not been able to sit the movie through, because the first scenes were highly upset.

Amélie's father, a retired physician whose only sign of love was his daughter's regular physical exam after he had her foisted a heart defect, because she was too excited to accept his touch as a matter of course, had been funny to watch for the rest of the audience. For him, it hadn't. The film had seen through him, and that's why he hated him. At least his father had not even been able to diagnose his pulse as pathological. He would have become a nuisance as a medical case.

"Bon Appetit," the second Amélie said and winked mischievously at Chase.

"Cocoa," he snorted, but he was not angry. After all, House drank his with visible pleasure.

"The latte I have introduced you to only the day after. I may be wrong, but I think you have it choked down just on my account. Therefore, we'll stick to cocoa. "

Suddenly he sensed the urge to laugh. Like an eruption it broke out of him. Slightly hysterical, he could not stop, looking at House. In the incredibly blue eyes there was no concern or suspicion. He smiled.

"What? Do I have a milk mustache? Or you can find it silly when adults drink chocolate? Tell me. I mean, not that I would stop then, but if you can convincingly justify or just say that you no longer want to go out with me, let me go back to Bourbon immediately. "

Still chuckling, Chase imagined his late father's face if from every corner of the world he had sent him photos of a garden gnome: from Montreal, Manhattan, Paris and Prague. House commented on his laughing fit with a smirking face. Most likely, he knew Amélie and garden gnomes. He knew everything. Sometimes it was uncanny with him.

"You know what's weird?" House said, while he was fishing for a box of Marlboro and offered him a cigarette. Hesitating, he took it, and House gave him a light from his silver Storm lighter. Family heirloom.

"I know a lot about your parents, but you never talk about your evil stepmother. Are there any rivals? Half-siblings? Your mother was young, so it seems not unlikely that Dad has met again his marital obligations, if he had a preference for fresh meat."

If he had beaten him in the face, the gurgling laughter couldn't have ended more abruptly. His slender fingers trembled. He tucked the smoldering cigarette in the ashtray and put his hands between his knees to hide his turmoil, at least outwardly.

His gaze did turn from the window as he blew a strand off his forehead and which he then put behind his ear before he pinched his nose. Meanwhile, House didn't escape his frowning and the twitching of his jaw muscles. The question upset him, but after a short pause in which he had regained fairly contenance, he answered his question. Only a minimal differing vibration of the vocal cords changed his tone that he was anxious to keep sober. He spoke in clipped, slightly breathless sentences.

"She lives in Brisbane. I barely know her. She had no kids. Neither with Dad nor from a previous marriage, at least not that I'm aware of it. After my mother died, he'd sent me everywhere, to ensure that I was not home. Boarding school to university. It was better that way. I have seen her only once or twice, and we found out we didn't particularly like each other. Since my father died I have not heard from her. You have to understand that. "

On the verge of crying, he blinked several times and rubbed his hand over his mouth, gleaming wet tongue. House tried to bribe him to a long discussion that seemed almost too personal. But Chase earned honesty. To dig out their pasts and be open about it to each other was not chicken for both. Since he was apparently on a hot track and the boy was closerto him than anyone else, he made an exception. His issue had to do with the family, this was obvious, and it was dangerous territory. Intimate secrets could not be torn from him without compensation.

"I would have been happy if I could replace my dad. It wouldn't have taken much to outdo him. It's different when it comes to Mom. "

"She needed me," Chase muttered as he stared out of the window into the streets. The weather had begun to drizzle, gray clouds slid in front of a timid sun. Passers by lifted their jackets and coats above their heads, some laughing, some angry at the change in the sky. God staged a backdrop for the young man in a nondescript café. "Nobody else has ever needed me."

The indifference with which he spoke affected House far more than sadness or anger would have done. He had a lot of practice in dealing with the tears. It flattered him to know that he could wash them away with his presence alone.

"I need you" would've sounded hollow and constructed so House just looked at Chase sympathetically.

"I understand," he said, but so quietly that Chase did not hear. Being needed. That was more important to him than being loved. Perhaps because he recognised the importance of late but it was in every fibre of his being.

"My egg is missing," he said more cheered than sullen, as he looked back to the table and decided to devote himself to more pleasant things. Finally, the trip should be something special. But House did not want just a patch of happiness. What he had just confessed chiefly through his body language was a start. For now, it should be enough. Personal issues exhausted them both.

"Is it in your sleeve?" In childlike excitement his voice raised. He fidgeted in his chair and looked expectantly at House.

Stay like that, Greg thought wistfully. Stay my little astonished boy.

Because House had prepared for it, he reminisced with the gimmick. The trick. He had taken away the anxiety of the child with this very game.

"That would be a bit too simple. That might impress eleven years old but not a qualified doctor at a prestigious hospital who operates under the brilliant Dr. House. Also, you did not pay attention. The egg stuck in your collar and not in my sleeve. "

He took Chase's napkin and folded it carefully as small as possible. With great practices he twisted it between thumb and index finger until it formed before Chase's bluegreen eyes into the shape of an egg that House, after a discreet change in his lap, put it the empty cup and broke it.

"Wow!" Chase whispered reverently. "That was great! Can you tell me the trick?"

"A good magician never does that. Today, you have no more classmates that need to be impressed. And Cameron is too old. How about a second pancake? "

Before Chase was able to protest, he waved to the waitress in her black and white livery.

"I'm bursting," he groaned, but he ate up to the last crumb.

They leisurely strolled on to the river through the Jardin des Tuileries. During their first meeting they had wasted hours in it. Similar to later in the park outside Princeton. Chase probably associated good memories with parks as kind of replacement of the beach and the little hidden oasis like the one he had shown him at home with boyish pride of ownership.

Sight seeing was not planned. Since Chase was not the type of action anyway, it seemed to be all right.

The drizzle had stopped, and the city gleamed a double rainbow. As the sun set in Melbourne no camera would reflect it so wonderfully as reality did. They stopped and looked up to the sky. House could see something in the eyes of the boy which he interpreted as nostalgia.

He loved the sun, the sea and the beach, which was white and more fine grained in Melbourne than anywhere else in the world. The soft, caressing sensation between the toes. The primal force of the idyllic coast he had cherished himself, though he resented open waters and the sea from an early age.

They had been in Atlantic City a couple of times when Chase had missed the ocean, but it was not the same.

"Am I holding you back?" He asked. "Do worry about me if I do. I do not want your freedom. You are young and have to decide what is best for you. I don't think it's me. "

Worried, Chase turned to face him vanishing from his sight, a transfiguration, which had given him the aura of a Raphaelite painting. His wild, yet tender and fearless lover. His immortal beautiful Ganymede.

It was almost a miracle that they shared their lives.

The price was high. Constant concern about whether he would stay or leave, and how they would cope if he did.

However, he had paid in previous relationships as well. Regardless of the fact that he had something special with Chase that he would not give up without a fight. Unless he wanted to leave by himself.

"Holding me back? No. Never. I was just that I've never seen such a beautiful rainbow. Maybe it's because of you, "he added after a deep breath, hushed and still daring." Two people can see things differently. Positive. Even those that are ugly at first sight. "

"Don't do that to me. You get an old cripple in a quandary. "

He actually did it by pointing to the aftermath of the rape that he would never have overcome without House, and that was no exaggeration. He was more proud of that fact than anything that he had accomplished before.

Nevertheless, House had not expected such a forthright romance from the mouth of his usually taciturn Australian. Although he felt that he was a romantic deep down it was usually actions rather than words.

"It's true. It was, and it still is. I wish you had taken me with you. "

He could not answer now. Mute with amazement and emotional chaos he limped forward a long way to not letting Chase see his turmoil. Fortunately, he understood. Presumably he was ashamed of having been so blunt. Why, there was no reason. There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with Chase.

He believed that he had never moved him to tears as often as he did in the past two days. But the sadness he felt was for the boy's sake. He himself had nothing to do with it. It faded in the view of Chase's who had his character not developed on his own will like he did. Unfavourable influences had made him what he was. For his sake he did not need to be much different. Except for the lack of self confidence, he was perfect.

In order to let him catch up, he stopped and turned around. Chase reluctantly joined him.

"I'm sorry," he said almost inaudibly. "I do not know myself anymore or what's wrong with me."

He pulled him to his side and held him. "What now? To the movies and a bucket of ice cream for two?"

Visibly shaken, but with a sound that caused House a shiver so that he would have probably suggested bed and sex instead, he agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** Thank you all for sticking with me so far and for the lovely reviews! _

_In this chapter, there will be some significant "physical action" between House and Chase, so if you're a minor or / and don't like slash, don't read. Maybe I will change the rating later for your own protection. (O;_

_Bearhugs to my partner-in-crime Calico17._

* * *

There were a couple of hours left until the movie started, but House got two tickets in advance, since the few seats were filled quickly in the famous cinema that stood out amidst a magical landscape of a neglected garden like a misplaced Asian temple.

Shortly thereafter, he led Chase down to the undergrowth nearby. His movements were marked by a strange restlessness while his breath was getting heavier with every step he'd make.

The harshness of the terrain made it difficult to follow House who presented at breakneck speed, but he stumbled behind him over branches and bushes, knowing what he was up to and felt happy and anxious at the same time. Saliva was gathering inside his mouth. He swallowed down hard before he would start drooling like a fool.

On a long disused, forgotten table tennis which was overgrown with lichen, House turned so quickly to him that Chase instinctively stepped back. His apparent shock stopped House for a moment, but his eyes, greedily and wildly looking, they made clear to him what they were heading to. And oh, Chase wanted it too. So much so that he could find no words to tell House that he felt the same way.

He threw his cane on the floor that was covered with pine needles; then embraced the younger so urgently that it made him squeak in surprise.

"You're not eleven years old," House said hoarsely. "You are beautiful and desirable. Obviously you were a cute little brat, but as a grown-up you are offering me an advantage that I'd be an idiot not to use."

He wanted to fuck him. Right here in the city of Paris, in the drizzle on a little overgrown clearing that protected them from voyeurs.

He had no time to think about an answer. There was none.

Chase pulled down his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt when House covered his face, kissing him fiercely and lifting his chin. Chase opened his belt and jeans as if being blindfolded. He desperately tried to keep quiet, and failed. He was overwhelming, his seductive appeal beyond compare. Chase gasped, breathing into his face and pressing his lower body into House's, pushing him.

Underneath his trembling fingers, he could feel the familiar stubble, the pulsation of the jugular vein. Taken by the passion House pounced on him, he gave a quivering sob which disbanded in endorphins. House was about to lift him on the table as if he was no heavier than a child. His physical limitations never seemed to affect his movements as soon as all of his senses focused on Chase. He found himself ridiculously proud of that fact.

Almost instinctively, he wrapped his legs around the older man's waist. House staggered a short distance carrying him towards the table. Chase feverishly freed himself from his jacket, remaining in constant contact with House's mouth. He kept kissing him until his lips felt sore, leaving him no other choice but to respond accordingly.

A treacherous jolt was sending shivers down his entire body, cumulated in a tingling sensation to his groin. His stomach muscles trembled with anticipation. His heart was racing, and he started to wheeze. His naked skin was burning in an outburst of sweat.

He had never felt so ready to give himself, had never found himself yearning so hard for his lover to take him.

The bitter scent of wood and moss merged with their sex. Above him he could see a clouded sky, and tree crowns above their heads. They had never done it in public places before, but it was good with House, and the noises of oblivious passers-by were adding to his arousal.

Rain spread on his face. He was glad that it camouflaged the tears of joy that ran down his cheeks. However, they were not to be hidden for long. Soothingly House kissed them away, casually pulling down his pants. Bit by bit he worked his way deeper. His mouth and hands caressed his neck, nipples, ribs, and belly. An unbridled turmoil made him sigh. House was sealing his mouth with a thoughtful kiss whilst putting Chase's leg over his shoulder.

Soon his other leg got halt at House's waist. He pushed against him so House would have better access. Frantically, he was moving his hips, silently begging him to hurry.

A sharp pain made him moan as House slowly and deliberately prepared his sphincter, causing him very nearly to come in the process.

He could feel him at the tender flesh of his saliva-coated entrance, big and hard and hot, however slowing down before he would enter. Chase worked eagerly to meet him, moving his hips and audibly begging for more. He did not care should anyone hear them, did not even waste a thought as House tentatively and finally penetrated him.

There was no holding back, and he was rewarded with something that would no longer be painful and that he enjoyed for the first time without reservations.

Swept away by subsequent waves of ecstasy and delight, he started sliding, writhing and panting, gripping the edge of the mossy plate, but it did not keep him from falling deep into a vortex of lust and heat. His muscles twitched in a helpless spasm, while House loosened the inner tension with rhythmic, steady forward motion and tilted Chase's pelvis in order to provide him with greater pleasure, causing throbbing sensations deep inside his body.

God, was he trying to kill him? He would not be able to withstand any longer. Glowing streams of quivering waves were flashing through his abdomen and flushed his skin, and he did not know if he yelled or cursed or begged him to whether let it end or to go on forever.

Although House was out of his sight, he guessed that he'd linger in the same dimension and just restrained himself from gasping by sheer will power.

Because he wanted Chase to let go.

Hysterical laughter escaped him when the thought had been processed inside his mind. He laughed and cried and could not calm down, losing it completely. He had swapped orientation and reasoning against bliss, but it was okay. Even more so, he felt pure pleasure. In his system there would have been no more room for anything else.

House was here, nothing else mattered. He couldn't hear him, because he kept quiet and Chase could not concentrate on anything anymore, but he inhaled his familiar scent as if he had become intoxicated. On most occasions, their sex was not that overpowering, because House usually allowed him to be in control. But damned it was so good that he would like to cum and scream and go crazy.

The fact that they were satisfying their urgent needs in public, it didn't matter. He felt safe. House was still his wizard.

The thrusting was getting more demanding now, almost gruff, but it felt good all the same. The new, deep, but strangely appropriate pain was something that made him even more excited, sending his body out to a vertebra that made him come with rinsed sweat all over.

Whimpering, with noises alien even to himself, he ultimately met with House, who now took his hand to guide him while his other hand vigorously moved his hip in order to shift focus.

Instinctively he squeezed House's hand before his eyeballs would roll back inside his head, his body shaken in sexual relief. A gasp or a laugh emerged from his throat that might had been as well just a grunt. He had not considered himself capable of such animalistic sounds.

The almost gentle, hence long lasting rhythm slowed down, but it did not stop abruptly. It was as if he had complete power over him: his reactions, his emotions, his body responded in such a delight as he had not thought possible.

He would no longer be able to hold back, and he was shivering with release when he felt the unmistakable sensation of his lover's fast approaching orgasm. The moment in which he ran to meet him with excitement and pleasure turned into the blazing heat of a wild and violent climax, it felt like redemption. He felt utterly tired, satisfied and exhausted that he was not ashamed when he was sobbing out loud with relief.

House brought him back gently until he dared open his eyes again.

Above him he heard his raucous laugh, unreal like a dream. Half-dazed, he wrapped his arms around House after the older man had pulled him up and drew him close.

"That's my boy", he whispered softly in his ear. Full of emotions, the touch of his lips grazing his cheek made Chase tremble again. "That's how I take my little Australian savage anytime."

The rain was sprinkling the leaves above them. Behind the trees, people were still talking as if nothing had happened. He was surprised that everything was still as peaceful as ever. Overwhelmed, pleasantly sleepy and well-fed in every aspect he buried his face on House's soaked T-shirt.

oOo

They drove back to the B&B. Something had changed. During the ride home, he could not take his beaming glance off him. The crowd in the subway was no longer a threat. At home, taking the bus had been close to punishment.

House was completely worn out, but the joy in the sparkling eyes of his lover increased his sluggish satisfaction. Perfectly contend, he slumped on the bed.

Astride on a chair, deep in thoughts, Chase kept staring out of the window. They had not spoken much. It felt like sacrilege to desecrate their unplanned rendezvous with banality.

As so often before, Chase had shown him that he was appealing to him, but this time it meant more. Intimacy had broken down the last stronghold. He had had no intention to hurt him or intimidate him, he had told him without words.

He could still feel and hear his blissful, surprised sobs inside his head.

"Come to me."

Readily he jumped from his chair and crawled over the mattress, amused by House's mocking outrage about the sheets being pulled away, kissing him teasingly on the mouth to silence his joshing. In an effortless motion, he rolled him over. Chase laughed and showed his perfect shimmering teeth.

Albeit House pondered the question if it had been okay for him (he had taken him by surprise - strictly forbidden), he ultimately didn't ask. At some point you should be able to take it for granted. The boy's joy was clearly written in his face. High-spirited, elbows propped on his chest, he smiled down at him. He had the most charming, most cheeky smile there was.

"Chase..."

"Don't talk," he insisted, sealing his lips with his finger. "Please don't say anything. I just want to be here with you."

He pulled back the blanket, inviting to join.

With a sigh, Chase stretched out on his stomach, not like his usual position when in the morning he found him curled up like a ball next to him. If he found him at all, that was. Chase often rose early to prepare breakfast. Sleeping in belonged to the past. Oddly enough, he got him to break with quite some habits.

As long as he had lived alone, Chase hadn't been known to be an early bird. He had usually appeared as the last of the team at the office, and House had mocked his tardiness due to an extensive morning beauty program.

The radiating heat, emerging from his lover's well-shaped, yet youthful body lured him to the nostalgic thought of little Chase who had been taking a nap in the very same room. The fascination that had attracted to him back then, it was all there, still, and more.

Reverent looks – the looks of a curious but somewhat shy boy - slid unceremoniously over his naked body.

Given the extensive screening House could not help but to taunt him a little. He hadn't felt that self-conscious with him for a long time. Chase was able to look behind the facade, because he himself was an expert in concealment and mystery hats.

"You like me despite a bum leg and uncouth table manners. "

"You're great," he replied with childlike empathy.

The tightrope walk between naivety and sophistication got never more convincing. He would like to fuck him again if he'd let him. But now it would probably scare him. The sharp scent of sex of their latest innuendo still lingered. He seriously mused about how he could manage to preserve it. Just in case. "I'm glad you stopped me from going away."

Contemplatively, House caressed his neck. His skin would be pink and tender after showering; it would be disrespect to not touch him now.

"Where did you go?"

He cast his eyes and breathed in and out quickly. "Nowhere."

Restless, he snuggled up to him, his hair tickling his chest. The question was stupid, and House would rather to have remained silent.

With surprising gentleness, he put his arms around the boy and rocked him to sleep.

As he listened carefully to the deep breath breezing down his jugular notch, a peaceful mood settled over the gradually darkening room.

Chase's distinctive traits transformed to the ones of the little boy's. He had changed a lot, and yet he was still the same.

Should he call Wilson at home? Certainly he could look up the file and find something significant about Chase's past that he had missed before.

The medical history of both his parents was recorded there, but it didn't necessarily have to be accurate. Relevant was Chase's, and even the fact of mentally induced seizures was conveniently left out of his records. If anxiety or stress threatened to overwhelm him, his brain was prone to go haywire, whereas normal people were simply getting sick or made an appointment with their shrink.

His then juvenile myoclonus came to his mind. In this very room he had seen it. Little Robert had denied it vigorously, like he usually did.

Lost in thought, he was weaving a strand of blond hair around his finger. Chase turned himself comfortably to the other side, kicking off the blanket in his sleep. In bed, he most comfortably wore hipster pants. House could not resist touching the fair skin of his thigh before he covered him.

He lay down and ultimately decided not to call Wilson. Presumably he wouldn't do anything but nagging about the fact that he was amusing himself with Chase.

_Why Paris?_

His answer had been evading. It wasn't a consolation trip. It was bad enough having to take care of an alcoholic mother. The boy back then had reacted so gratefully to his affection that he suspected there might be more than an abusive mother.

_Will you_ _take me away now and beat me dead?_

The question had haunted him for a long time.

Chase's reluctance when it came to discuss family matters kept his mind busy.

As for the role of the stepmother he was not clear. If he saw fit, Chase was a damn convincingly liar. But it was true that she held no place in Chase's life. She probably got away with Daddy's trust funds, anyway.

"House." Chase woke him up; the exciting afternoon had taken its toll. He had dozed off.

"Hm?"

"It is ten clock. We'll miss the movie. "

Head over heels, Chase jumped to get dressed. House watched lazily as he turned his T-shirt over his head. The flat belly, the tanned, boyish smoothness down below the navel made him mad. He would give anything to be his short-shorts for a while.

"No hurry. The show is over. Elizabeth Taylor spent her last summer without us. – Not to worry," he said, reaching out to him as the boy's shoulders fell in disappointment, shirt over his wrists, his hair tousled." If there's one thing I'm lousy at it's picking movies. You wouldn't have liked it. "

He pulled him back onto the bed.

Head on his shoulder, Chase allowed him to tangle his hair.

Deliberately, his lips brushed a golden strand. Good Heavens. Every time he touched him, he could not decide what he liked best about him.

"How do you know I wouldn't have liked it? Maybe I would have enjoyed going out with you."

"I just know. You're more of a girl than Tennessee Williams devotee. Now what can we possibly do to make this a fun evening for you? The night is still young. We could have your portray done on the Place du Tertre. Fifteen years ago those scam artists were desperately trying to get you sitting for them. Today will be their lucky day."

Half amused and half peeved (anxious?) he huffed.

"I have not been sketched and don't intend to. Not even for you. Not even if you pay for it. "

"Who talks about paying? Do I pay you for what you give me? That would be cheap. The chosen artist must do so. "

He laughed and got up before House would pin him down to the mattress.

"Who'd have thought that? You're a romantic."

"And you are awfully fickle. You weren't a few hours ago."


	4. Chapter 4

Despite House's threat to get his portray done he really wanted to see Montmartre again. The diversity in the picturesque lanes up to the Basilica du Sacre Coeur, it had been like a carnival with all its temptations back then. At House's hand or running ahead of him he had inspected each sales booth and considered himself to be in a dream. Strange, how crystal clear the memory came back. The feeling of sheltered security had made him embarrassingly emotional.

His parents had never taken him to a fair. A whirligig ride came to his mind when he had been about six years old, and he believed that it had been the first and only time he'd been allowed to enter a ride. He had become nauseous because he had previously eaten a candied apple.

Full of shame his nanny had dragged him home. The next day she was dismissed.

He didn't buy anything in those little shops, because he was concerned that House would be vanishing into thin air as soon as he had made it to the magical number of three wishes. The first was breakfast with him, the second the ill-fated ascent of the Eiffel Tower, and the third would have been a dazzling stained-glass paperweight. Any other activities such as cinema, lunching at a fisherman's restaurant and the night club, they had been on account of his generous friend.

And of course the cool clothes as well. In his childish naivety, he really had believed that he was wearing French stuff and had felt very fancy when he wore them.

House had asked if he wanted to have the paper weight, probably because he had admired it from all sides and even lifted it in order to estimate its weight. Of course he had known that this was not permitted. Dad would have scolded, but House hadn't been angry and treated him almost like a grown up instead.

But he had put it back, stating that he had exactly the same at home to prevent him from secretly buying it and, after handing it over, to disappear for good in front of his eyes.

oOo

The crumbling rusty carousel he could remember. Clearly, it had been restored, or had been replaced because this one seemed so much smaller.

Still, the lights on the canopy and on the upper level illuminated the carousel as a sight seeing point for tourists. Thoughtfully, they remained standing in front.

House took his arm.

"I can see what you're up to. It's written in your face. 'I wanna climb into that gondola and twirl in a circle to forget everything and just be a child for two minutes. "

"Certainly not," he declined.

It was too late. Remarkably graceful House stepped over the fence - with benefits to his long legs, so that he didn't have to jump. Settling down in a ship, he started to push the hub in the middle of it. Because of the lack of electric power his effort remained useless.

Hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched defensively, Chase looked around cautiously. They were not the only people around.

"House. You're about to ruin public property. "

"Together we can make it. Come on." His expression turned into a gorgeously heartbreaking grimace. "I want to fly. Pretty pretty please?"

He had to duck beneath the immovable rods in order to get there. As he sat in the gondola with House, he grinned at the grotesque sight they definitely gave.

There wasn't much space so he positioned his legs under the tiny bench. House did reversely. Together they pushed. In an effort to make the wheel rotate, Chase's fingers were chasing House's. Soon, the wheel was burning and turning.

In almost a hypnotic manner, House stared at him. The piercing, analyzing look in the bright eyes he sought in vain. They shone like a child's which had been promised a heaven of cotton candy. For a while he felt insecure. House's hands were on his, because he had stopped in movement.

The boy hidden inside House's had been rarely seen since they turned into lovers, but he was abrasive, infantile and often violent (when a teenager, he certainly would not have liked to have him as an enemy). Now, however, he enjoyed just to sit together with Chase in a ludicrously small boat.

Vigorously he jerked the wheel. By all means, he had the thing go up and running. He had to.

House had given himself a rest. He winked at him before turning his face to the sky of the brightly painted carousel. "It's okay. Let's give it up unless you want to wind up with hernia. I'm not prepared for emergencies. "

He wanted to make those eyes flash up like blue fire.

Groaning, he worked on the damned thing, while House was appraising his useless afforts. Finally he succeeded. Almost imperceptibly, the gondola rocked up and down, turning in a diagonal wave motion. Since Chase was lightweight, it stopped again with him on top.

"Don't try to get ahead of yourself", House teased him. "I'm not sure if I'm well adjusted enough to take it the other way round."

"Help me. It works, " he gasped, ignoring his lewdness.

House acted with vigor rekindled, and they flew. The crucial point was over. Now it was easy.

In his sparking eyes he drowned. Dizzy and drunk with happiness, House made a howling noise which broke his awkwardness. In the gaunt, usually melancholy face he saw nothing but wild pleasure.

They laughed until Chase's stomach was hurting. He had never seen such delight in his mentor, eyes so full of life, away from the pain that never was completely gone.

It was not so much the satisfaction that he had broken a spell, but a metaphor by which he taught him a lesson. Albeit he still did not know exactly what to make of it.

Faster and faster the boat circled around itself, creaking and whirring in protest.

Excited onlookers gathered and stood there watching; a girl took a picture of them.

House's zest was contagious. He started a discussion with a man, hands on hips, veins swollen on his forehead.

His voice sounded cheerful and not angry in the slightest.

"_Nous sommes le vieillissement en arrière, mon grand-père et moi_. _Il serait embarrassant de tous les petits partager avec du Carrousel_."

Giggles from the crowd disarmed the spoilsport. Chase pushed himself to his feet and helped the taller man from the carousel. Both were still shaking with laughter.

"Aging backwards? Do you think he believed it? "

"Don't tell me I wasn't convincing."

oOo

In an infamous red-lit tavern at Montmartre, House ordered Tarte and Quiche Lorraine.

"Only the hors d'oeuvre," he explained. "But still pretty good."

He had never tried quiche and waited expectantly. A piano nearby caught his attention. House followed his gaze, before he stood up in order to sit on the stool and play.

Suddenly tears came into Chase's eyes.

The bittersweet melody that he fantasized made it impossible for him to keep his emotions in check. He realized where he'd heard something similar before. Some French movie about a waitress he had seen years ago. Amélie.

House's response to the postcard photos of the garden gnome.

He loved to hear him play, although he did not do it often. His repertoire from jazz to classical to pop and swing was impressive. However, the most precious thing about it was the passion in which House elicited the most wonderful sounds, reflecting in his facial expressions. Then it seemed like nothing else mattered. As if the music and House were courting each other. Cajoling, pleading, earnest; most alike to their relationship.

The piano was old, a little out of tune, but it still sounded nice. Grateful for House's favour, Chase couldn't help but to get teary.

The bartender showed up from behind the bar. His fat, sweaty face was beaming as he nodded approvingly at Chase, because House kept his eyes closed. He was a genius in every respect.

With more guests arriving, House interrupted and returned. His performance had been meant for him alone. It was quite odd for the immodest House, but it made his little interlude all the more valuable.

Somehow the puzzle slowly fell into pieces. How it would have pleased him: their first contact in that city just so long ago, then Chase's first step towards him - a step that had given them unforgettable moments hat he had relished throughout his childhood.

House loved personal freedom and non-commitment; it would not always be like this.

Several times before he had told him so (but hadn't he also done things that he would have never expected?) Chase himself hadn't been able to make a decision, until recently.

What would be more appropriate to end their relationship in a place where it had begun?

"That damned thing should be tuned," House muttered, pretending crankiness as he sat face to face to him.

Chase swallowed, hoping to successfully hide the last traces of his emotional outburst. In front of House, he wasn't ashamed of his feelings no more, but he knew that his performance wasn't meant to make him cry like a baby.

House reached across the table and put back a strand of his hair.

"I know what you wanted to tell me this morning. Aside from the fact that Dad has no earthly address any more, that would be just a waste of postage stamps. "

"I'm not so sure about that. I've never spoken with him. He was no role model, but still my father. I've made mistakes, too. "

Pricking up his ears, House leaned back and sipped his aperitif.

"I thought we were over with that crap. You're not to blame about him leaving your mother. Well, he has caught you forgotten to pay for liquor at the store. This was done but out of concern that Mom would pass on her genes. He was angry that he has failed as a husband and a father. I probably would have felt the same. I guess he had trouble with Mom long before she crawled into a bottle. It had nothing to do with you."

"Maybe it did."

If he wanted, he could be stubborn worse than Foreman. Uncomfortable, he stared at the table, his finger circling the rim of the glass until it squeaked. He was frustrated for whatever reason. Instinctively, House prevented the glass from falling over.

"I would-..." He raised his head. His dreamy eyes glittered cold and almost hostile. "I would rather been born a girl..."

Given this information, House swallowed down an ironic comment. Instead, he smirked, placing a finger on his lips. He had not sought to be his shrink, but even his gesture was that of a psychotherapist's. Was it to take place right here, the meeting recommended by Wilson and Cuddy soon after the abuse?

Apparently they were well on the way. Pity the patient had not been drinking enough. If anything at all, he would be more talkative.

"Why would you? I mean, it would have made things easier for me. I can picture you in a skirt no less attractive as in shorts. "

"Because-..." Lost for words, his gaze was wandering through the room, the leather furniture, the lighting dim and the esoteric wind chimes that in fact reminded of the living-room atmosphere of most psychological practices, with the hint of a brothel thrown in. A perfect place to begin with.

Chase's breath, audible only through his nose, was irregular, as if he was upset by something. His fingers twinged.

"... – because they always wanted to have a girl. Mum and Dad. "

Slowly House leaned forward to pour his glass. Beaujolais. It had a fragrant note, good and tasty, perfectly suited for lobster which he had ordered after the Tarte.

"Then why you feel guilty? Because you have not been able to choose your gender before birth? Seriously? "

Chase bit his lower lip. "Of course not."

He was near to choking as he looked down maiming the napkin, then rubbed his nose in embarrassment. Under the table, he heard him shuffle his feet. The next sentences he whispered.

"I've just always assumed that girls have it easier. At least they would have had with my parents. With my mother. I would not have protested if she had bought me dolls and braided me for giving me a bit more attention in return."  
_  
__For loving you in return_, House translated to himself. He doubted that a different sex would have saved him from the worst, but he kept silent, willing to listen. Chase took a deep breath.

"My mother always wanted me to invite friends home. But every time Daniel showed up, she said boys were playing too rough and threw him out. He was my only friend. I would like to think that my mother was happy with what I did, but I could never make it up to her. I'm not saying she didn't like me. But it was hard to meet her demands."

He snorted contemptuously.

"My bedroom was painted pink until I have protested at the age of eight. "

"And then you'd had painted it blue."

"We had a big house. I would have shown you when we were down under, but I was glad you wanted to stay in the bungalow. We had a villa on the beach with a pool and five bedrooms. I just moved. "

House again offered him a glass. He was drinking too much, but he needed it right now, and House took advantage of his vulnerability.

Chase glared at him suspiciously. "Are you trying to make me drunk?"

"Just having a little fun. I love listening to your charming Aussie accent."

oOo

She had called him Robyn. Not Robert, not Robbie. Robyn it was, whenever she fled into delusions that tempted her to see what she wanted to see: a sweet little dolly she could pamper and dress up in girls' clothes.

As long as she was still able to leave the house here and then, she'd go on a shopping frenzy and buy him stuff. Floral tops, blouses and bags with Bambi on them were packed into her shopping basket. Anything to make a little girl happy.

He was small and slender, much more delicate than the other boys in his class, and he looked fabulous and stunning in girl's clothing.

In fact, he appeared vividly before House's eyes as he hesitantly revealed this part from his past. He could not help but feel amused at the idea of little Robert in purple or pink blouses.

Nevertheless, he felt anger. Long before her addiction Mrs Chase had apparently shown a tendency for psychotic behavior. Even if the disease had come in spurts - which he assumed - Daddy should have recognized the symptoms.

In typical boy's outfits like baggy pants and a sweater she would not bear to see him, not even in a changing room at the stores. She'd get furious and would tear the new clothes from his body in a sudden fit of rage.

For a long time, he was not even permitted to leave the house on his own. It didn't fit for delicate little Robyn.

Sometimes at night he went to the beach when he was sure she was sound asleep. There were days when she locked him up in his room, because she feared he might be getting kidnapped being run over by a car or either just because his mere presence did annoy her.

His own wishes and needs did not matter. Mom set his habits, his toys. The dolls had been no joke - on his seventh birthday, she had given him a doll head to create haircuts of all kinds, and a small functional kitchen. But he had no use for either of them, although he accepted everything else to see her happy. At her urging, he learned to cook and to sew, long before there was the need to because she no longer was able to do so.

Only when Dad would come for a rare visit, she allowed him to put on jeans and shirt, a stylish unisex blazer on a sweater in the winter.

It seemed to him as if she was afraid of his father. As if they were strangers to each other. He'd played it cool for the giant that was his father. Thus, he never really developed real feelings for him.

She never spoke ill of him. Actually she never even mentioned him. As if he never had shown up.

He wasn't allowed to cut his hair anymore, because she preferred it long. Much to her chagrin, his wasn't curly like Shirley Temple's, but it didn't stop her from taking pride in his thick hair. While watching TV, she occasionally turned to him, pleased by his girlish looks, handing him a mirror so he could look at himself.

"You have Mummy's hair," she used to say, massaging his scalp. "You did well. So you're going to be an actor, huh? You'll make Mummy proud."

When she accidentally had caught him with the scissors in his hands, she'd gone into a fit of rage that nearly cost him an eye.

It had made him feel sorry. Because of her, he never tried to cut his hair again, albeit being mocked at school because of his girlish feature. Even after her death, he had never had the heart to trim it.

oOo

"No," he said, as in meaningful silence House was touching the scar underneath his left eye. "This is still on account of my father. My mother didn't hit me. Not in a long time."


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N:_ **_Thank you all for reading & reviewing; being a non-native speaker, this means a lot to me! This chapter may be a bit difficult to read because of the shifty POVs and some flashbacks into Chase's childhood, so I advise to read carefully. _**  
**

_Thanks to Calico for sticking with me through translation. Occuring mistakes are on my account only.  
_

* * *

The year he turned eight, she'd begun making it a habit to crawl into the bottle. A bit strange she had always been, so he had no idea about why she didn't keep an appointment or spent hours in her darkened room. From an early age accustomed to care for himself, he was far from complaining.

His father returned every few weeks to introduce new tutors for Robert's education. He had never been a petulant child, but dreamy and a bit difficult, too quiet for his age. In an effort to make it all right, he underwent a lot of mistakes. One of his flaws was to get his teachers exasperated because he was allegedly not paying attention or mentally absent.

Although he had shown years later to House that he wasn't neither.

His mother didn't approve his playing with other children on the beach, whilst his athleticism was not more than a thorn in her eye. The only compromise she could do with was volleyball because Chase's best friend's friend Susan was doing great in it.

That fact that he was a good runner and was having fun a with a skateboard was not much of her interest. At most, she scolded whenever he had his knee or elbow scraped. Surfing and swimming he kept a secret from her.

At school he had to excel in English literature, history and music. Subjects that girls would chose. When he told her that he'd rather learn how to play the cello instead of the flute, she gave up the idea of a child prodigy. A choir member, he remained until he caught up with voice change.

The only birthday party he was allowed to celebrate in grand style was his tenth, and he was terribly excited.

It was planned a week later because on his great day, bad weather was forecast. Mom and his nanny, Mrs Graham, were organizing a barbecue in the garden and decorated the trees with garlands and lanterns. Mom even was to fill the swimming pool that usually was never used. His friend Daniel, who was a grade above him, knew a lot of girls and brought Susan and friends along with his older sister. It had been nice. Although the writing on the cake was saying _Happy Birthday, Robyn!_

The lapsus was aplogized by Mom with the mishearing of the baker man, followed by a giant outburst of laughter.

She had given him a dark blue one-pieced swimsuit, alike to the one Robert Redford was wearing in _The Great Gatsby_ when getting shot in the pool.

"You'll look smashing, honey. Show your mates and make Mummy proud, will you?"

Slightly ashamed, he had hidden the suit under the paper and kept on his boardies. Mom didn't mind in her afternoon nap.

Only later, when the father was heard of only in the form of monthly checks for alimoney, she allowed him a little more by letting him do his own shopping and go to town because he now was "the man in the house".

She would send him to buy clothes – his and hers as well. He carefully took polaroids of the dresses and sweaters that he had chosen for her in the store in order to ask her permission. He did the same with his own new clothing. It wasn't hard to match her taste - she had him almost inoculated.

The shadow of Robyn was still present, but Mom didn't really care any more. The most important matter to her was to not feel entirely alone in the big house. Sometimes Robert was even more welcome than Robyn. He would endure more than a sensitive little girl. And when she heard the voices, it made no difference at all. Then he had trouble making it clear to her that he was neither a rapist nor a burglar threatening her. When he failed in his invocations that were wasted on her short span of attention, he was hiding in the closet until she'd fell asleep, exhausted and worn out from calling for him.

Despair and alcohol drove her into psychotic behaviour. He firmly believed that she did not do it on purpose when she dragged him around and yelled at him on the verge of breaking every bone inside his body.

Given her unpredicable behaviour, he had to be extra cautious. He always made sure about the places she kept her stash and checked the inventory to not let it run out.

In meticulously written down intervals he rattled out drugstores and gas stations. It would have looked suspicious if every other day he would carry out an armful of whiskey and vodka. However, the cashiers seemed to be quite the same everywhere. They didn't bother as long as he paid like any regular customers, telling them it was for his dad who forgot to fill up the fridge.

Despite all the harassment he loved his mother. The thought of leaving her would break his heart. She was also the only thing he had.

Before it got worse, he often had been sent to Aunt Amy. He liked her, but every time he spent his holidays at hers, he felt like a traitor to his mother.

Aunt Amy never missed an opportunity to tell him how pitiful he was.

Pity was not what he needed nor wanted. He needed help, which he alone was not able to give to his mother. But how to express something that would immediately be misunderstood? The only option for him would be youth office that would not hesitate to refer him to a foster home, Mom being taken to an institution.

All in all, it was better to be Robyn and to laugh with Mom about things that only they both understood.

oOo

In haste he emptied his third glass, and then moved on to the lobster.

As for his past, it was no longer a secret. Looking tired and grim, he hated himself for his loquacity already. Sometimes it was strange how precisely he had learned to fathom Chase's emotions. He wouldn't let him see his turmoils often. Seeing his frowning face, House felt the need to soothe his conscience.

"To me you are the most fascinating person I've ever met, just because you are what you are. Because you can allow yourself to be both boy and girl. Even though Mom might have done wrong, you've made the most of it. I'll tell you another thing: I would prefer you any time over Cameron or Cuddy. Even to Wilson. I have, believe me or not. "

His laughter that commented House's confession varied between hysteria and depression. But there was also relief.

oOo

On the steps of the church, they stopped. Chase turned to face him, worried. The climb would be exhausting for House, unlike in the past. Basically impossible. The sadness in his eyes was not lost on House.

When he thought back to his own physical strength it was choking him. Of course, there was a way up for baby strollers and wheelchairs, but in between there were also stages. It would take ages to reach the top.

Chase looked wistfully up at the white dome. From up there, one had a breathtaking view over the city. He had it with House.

Although he had not wanted it because he knew that it was not right, he had compared him to his father.

Up into puberty, Chase had been a hypersensitive, sickly kid in the eyes of his father, suffering from asthma and seizures associated with febrile episodes. Which, as he did know now, had not resulted in disfunction of his brain, but were, in fact, based on psychological events. In childhood, mental stress would trigger seizures as soon as he witnessed his parents debate and arguing.

Just as it's been the day when House had implied that he could no longer live with him. At a time when House had not been willing to play a bigger part than the one of his boss, he now was filling the gap completlely. But how much longer would he be?

The concern of the father's, however, was not caused by parental affection, and his alleged poor health was a farce that he had recognized early.

For two days he has had sheer good fortune in his hands and thought it possible that there was something that he had unconsciously been seeking all along. Security and warmth. Fun and acceptance. Sometimes he was so overwhelmed that he'd been on the verge to bursting out with both laughter and crying.

He'd probably had House scared. To actually have someone caring had him thrown completely off balance. The fact that he had wept with joy a lot he could remember as if it had been only yesterday.

The nagging pain of leaving him had been like a dagger driven into his chest when House had brought him back to the hotel. As long as possible, he had postponed the separation, begging and crying and hung upon him, as if he could prevent him from leaving.

He had been ashamed of his childish behaviour because it was supposed to cause a bad conscience in Greg. Exhausted by distress and fatigue, he finally fell asleep in the arms of his new friend, just to find himself waking up in the hotel room of Prince Albert and Queen Victoria the very next morning.

Dad had commented on his runaway trip with gritted teeth, not ready to admit how glad he'd been to have him back unharmed. Only that he pointed out he'd had Dr House written a check to make up for the entire excess spending on clothes, which he had done because of him.

Of the asthma attack and the subsequent fall, he said nothing, because Dad was already furious. If he learned about the forgotten inhaler, his hand could easily slip on his face. Sometimes Dad could get really angry.

Mum used to say it was the origin of his Slavic heritage, but Robert still found it scary. As one would shake a bottle of soda and post open to see shooting out the storm of bubbles.

Dad had muttered to himself sullenly. Children were a burden. Why would he not have stayed at the hotel as being told, when there was a pool and even a steam bath?

Since back then, he had noticed that he always seemed clumsy and stupid when his father demanded obedience.

And it was good that House had been there to entertain him, despite the fact that he'd had suspected he had been dreaming. Making up an imaginary friend. In his presence he had felt safe, even on the high wall of the Montmartre hill.

He had been clutching his arms around his neck and had started to yell, pretending to be afraid when House had acted as if he was going into the lofty heights and allegedly lost his balance on shaky legs.

oOo

The physical limitation gained new dimensions, made him realize once more how many things he couldn't do. Previously, he had been an active person on not just a mental level.

"Would you like to go up there? Might be helpful to tell your sorrow to the big Unknown. I'll wait here."

"I can pray everywhere. You do not need churches for that. "

He rewarded his answer with a tender kiss while tourists passed by on their way upstairs. Chase's feverish reaching out for him told him that he felt the same.

A visit of the nightclub was still missing to make the evening complete. Neither of them really felt like it, but maybe it would be a welcome distraction for Chase, who looked pale in the flashback of his childhood. Near Moulin Rouge district there was a bar that resembled to the one they had been. Without further ado, he entered.

"I'm dead drunk," Chase intervened, tugging his sleeve. "I think I would embarrass myself here if you drag me on the dance floor."

"That was the plan."

Night-life was not the big thing. Almost half asleep, Chase hung around with House at the bar sipping a cocktail. Ironically, James Brown's _This is a Man's World _was played, which was not exactly helping to improve his mood. In his eyes brooded dull pain that had not been there before.

House suddenly felt regret for having evoked some memories. But for precisely this reason, he had planned their trip. To stir up something in the grown Chase which had already taken its toll on the little one.

"Don't like black music anymore? Back in the days, you have danced almost all night. "

"On your arm and not drunk," Chase asserted with a melancholy smile, sucking out the rest of his Mai Tai with a straw. Then he plucked the piece of pineapple on cocktail sticks. In its grace, the gesture was something incredibly sensual. As the pineapple was crushed between his teeth, he suddenly wished he had offered him to share it mouth to mouth.

oOo

He had carried him to the hotel through the pouring rain like an award made of icing, wrapped in his coat, being eager not to touch him too roughly, but he had slept like a baby. He had trusted him more than he had expected.

According to his own definition, there was not much of what he had done for the boy.

Then again, what else could he have done but to share his time with him? Adopting him? Both parents had been alive back then, and besides, it was close to impossible to adopt a child who had been in his care just for the weekend. House himself had no experience with kids, nor did he had aspirations to become a substitute for Robert's parents. However, it appealed to him that he would have made quite a better father than Dr Chase. More so than at the time of their professional joint, when the wounds were too deep to heal properly. Perhaps it had helped to confirm their mutual attraction.

oOo

"Too bad we can not repeat your lap dance. But the cheeky mademoiselles over there could be an appropriate replacement for my strong arms. "

"I do not dance. It's hard enough to keep up with you."

House ordered a gin and tonic.

"A girl makes twice as fun," he said. "Come on. Don't be a coward. Show me your masculine side. I would sacrifice myself happily, but somehow I have a notion we would look ridiculous tonight as a dancing couple. You can not hang on me all day just because you feel sorry for me. Have fun. "

Hesitantly and a bit unsteadily, Chase pushed himself away from the bar, his jaw tightened, his back straight, and then went straight up to the very female admirers who began whispering excitedly to each other.

He had the choice, and he chose the little dark-haired. Smirking, House devoted himself to his mojito.

As if the disc jockey figured out Chase's mood, he put on Sam Cooke.

House knew that Chase loved that kind of music. He often had his R&B-record collection played at home, which was unusual for a young man like him. Evergreens had also been amongst the record collection of his mother's. Apparently she had been turning to languishing songs and cheesy films in order to find what Rowan Chase had denied her.

Yet even playful, romantic and unworldy, she had been incapable to raise her own child. Her biological age was not relevant for that matter. She had married Prince Charming who had turned out to be a frog.

Her shattered illusion had attempted to implement at her boy, by presenting him in her dream role. Calling him by both a female and male first name, she'd been working out what she had hoped to accomplish with her husband.

It was no great revelation, but she had far more a greater impact on Robert than his father did. He neither avoided reality nor confrontations, as long as they remained manageable, but House had the impression that he was living in his own world. As he also was with him, House.

Interestingly, he found that it had been vice versa in his own case. He himself had seen only the negative sides, not realizing that he'd been allowing his stepfather to take more influence on his life as his mother. In his eagerness not to end up like him, he had struck to the same road. He could be just as hurtful and sarcastic as Mr House, perhaps worse.

House would have liked to met Victoria Chase, because she seemed to have been an intriguing character, despite or perhaps because of her mistakes and ignorance in which she had chosen her downfall.

oOo

He kept watching Chase and his conquest. The girl literally crawled into his shoulder, while the two were in a blues and swayed. She probably was determined to impress him with French temper. Chase's dancing was as elegant as ever. His eyes closed, he didn't even flinch as she put her arms around him, her hands on his butt.

He was supposed to be shaking with jealousy, but amazingly, he remained calm, almost serene. Chase seemed perfectly natural in dealing with the French girl. He knew that Chase was a good dancer and made it easy for his partner to follow.

Eventually, Chase's hand slid down towards her private place, and she forgave him with a merry chuckle, whispering something in his ear that he was blushing about. He looked up as if to search for something until his eyes met House's. Trying to encourage his action, he nodded, but the boy was now moving less confidently. Relieved when the song was over, he was leading her back to her friends.

Their names were eliminated after the third drink, but he did not bother. Much more important was the fact that Chase laughed again and seemingly distracted from what tormented him. Politely, he introduced his new aquaintances and ordered cocktails for all.

Longing arms wrapped around his body like tentacles around the head of Medusa. Nevertheless, he seemed to actually enjoy being the target of female affection. House was wondering what it was that made his appealing to the three girls. The exotic, the alien, or the fact that he behaved as a gentleman of old school without any effort? Although he was attractive, House had noticed that he took no advantages from his appearance. Not every woman defenselessly succumbed to his charm.

Finally, the girls were to say goodbye with great fuss and a lot of O là là.

He had double vision and was glad to be able to use his cane as an excuse to rely on, while the young women parted with exaggerated gestures, gently and gleefully adopted by Chase. The noisy surroundings made it impossible for him to understand what they actually said.

"You did good," he pointed out, grabbing his shoulder in a friendly manner and, due to excessive alcohol consumption, also a little rougher than intended. Although he could take pretty much, he was now but stoned properly. Hopefully, the girls hadn't put drugs into the glasses.

"I'm afraid you are back on track faster than I want you to. Did you get Mademoiselle's phone number? She's nice, isn't she. Her focus was on me, right? "

Chase smiled at him, showing a beautiful pout. House would rather hear him laugh, because the visibly brooding mood was not necessarily a good sign.

With Chase looking tense, House realized that he laid the vow of love to him silently into his mouth. Words he yearned to hear from those beautiful lips.

_I just want to be with you. I don't need anybody else._

As he spoke, his Australian accent was more prominent than usual. "Let's get back to the hotel? I think you really have to carry me now. "


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Sorry it took so long to update - I had a few things to do aside from translation which really doesn't come all too easy to me, so please bear with my being slow._

* * *

The Metro had been shut down a long time since; it was four o'clock in the morning. After a few moments of disorientation, a cab appeared out of nowhere, and House was not hesitant to get it. They were made to pay three times the actual amount. House was too tired to start an argument in a foreign language on taking advantage of tourists. Reluctantly, he handed the driver the amount he required.

Back at their hotel room, he did not fail to hang the "_Please do not disturb_"- sign onto the door knob and entered the room with the boy.

"The last dance is on me," he whispered, grazing the bridge of his nose with his lips. Chase's heavy breath was brushing over his face as he mumbled in protest, making half-hearted attempts to move away from him. House held his finger to Chase's lips. Those purdy, sweet lips. "I've had nothing from you back in the bar. You owe me."

"Okay," Chase muttered. "Whatever."

Absorbed in himself, he leaned himself into him and adjusted to his rhythm. The first step turned out a little awkward. Without music, House found it difficult to get rhythm. But Chase did nonetheless. They were on a level that surged through him like waves of some long lost rememberance, making him able to recapture the happiness that he had felt with the boy in his arms. Soft and cuddly he'd been, as he had pressed himself close to him.

House gently pushed him into his movements, humming a silent melody.

"Can we talk?" He asked after a while. Chase was moving in a kind of twilight. His weight was on him now when he was literally clutching his neck, shuffling his feet to the silent music. But he was still present to some extend. "It was pretty interesting to learn how you have lived with Mommy. "

oOo

About a year after the divorce, she met someone. His name was Thomas. He sported a beer belly and had gusto for mixed pickles.

Being resentful like any child would be, Chase decided to hate his rival. Hatred was a new experience, because it did not match his character. What's more, when she started dating Tomas, Mom finally laughed more often than ever before. They occasionally went out for the night. Chase focused so much on his negative feelings towards him that he finally managed to internalize them. He was Mummy's man; therefore no stranger could be tolerated. Before Thomas came along, she had never complained about a lack of care.

Thomas said they had a good thing going on, but treated her wrong all the way by making her see expensive restaurants. He could not tell him about her addiction nor be of some guidance, even though he bravely asked Thomas if he could join them.

His mother had been opposed. She wanted him to do homework and after having finished the dishes, sitting in front of the TV, then going to bed at nine. Discipline and rules were important for adolescent boys, she pointed out. In two years' time from now she would have drowned her attitude in alcohol.

The fact that she was an addict did not occur to Thomas, because she used to trick him like Scarlett O'Hara by gurgling cologne before a date.

Meanwhile, her body had set out to cover up telltale signs of addiction. Usually, she only went to heavy drinking when she returned home.

Her absences escalated to hallucinations. Then she'd seen Rowan taking her only child by court order or something would be bound to happen which she had no control over. Under recurring delusions, she would hurt him without intend, dislocated his shoulder by dragging him up the stairs, and shouted at him because he alternately represented Rowan and Robert in her visions.

"You mustn't take away my little girl, you monster! I'll break your arm if you do! "

He would wear long sleeves and jeans even in the summer. Arms and legs were covered by haematomas. He did not want a teacher to figure out and talk to Mom about it.

One day, unexpectedly, Thomas rang the doorbell. His mother was asleep, and he unwillingly let him in. To his surprise, his visit was not because of her. Fiddling with his ridiculous baseball cap, he stomped from one foot to the other and asked if he happened to fancy a drink with him.

It sounded tempting, and a very manly thing to do. He had wanted to resist and did not expect that he would to be bribed so quickly. Because of the migraine Mom was suffering, the blinds were lowered, and he had the feeling to slowly suffocate in this big house that had become his cage. Mrs Slatterly, the new governess, had her day off.

"Wait," he beckoned, glad to escape the haze of cigarettes and alcohol, even if it was only for a while. "I'll have to tell Mum about it."

Before Thomas could enter, he closed the door.

He wrote down a message for her on the black board on the kitchen wall. He would learn with a classmate for the biology exam next week and would be back in a few hours. An address he did not left. If he did, she would call there, wanting to make sure whether he actually spent the afternoon with a friend or just roaming about.

Thomas was not so bad after all. Although he was initially awkward, asking the usual questions about school and friends, his effort was appreciated. He secretly suspected that Mom was trying to curry favour with her lover. Reserved, he answered more or less truthful. As for his friends, he told him the names of those whom he would like to be mates with. And of course the sports that he was into. Impressed, Thomas threw him a sidelong glance.

"Your mother tells me you'd rather into books and play the piano. Hey, if you want to, we can watch a cricket game together. "

Biting down on his lips, he stared out the window. He didn't have the faintest idea of cricket and hockey rules. Next time he would stick to the truth, as bleak as it was.

Later, Thomas took him to the pet shop, where he was allowed to choose a pet. The generous offer of a complete stranger puzzled him. Years ago, he had owned a cat, but Mom wanted no company in the house any more. Maybe they could not keep their mouth shut as opposed to him.

Dad later gave him a Golden Retriever, so she could say nothing against it. However, he did not have him long. Mom hadn't seen the dog while trying to manoeuvre the car into the garage. The injuries had been so severe that he had to be euthanized. Sometimes Robert believed that she had done it on purpose.

In order to facilitate his choice, Thomas rooted for a guinea pig or a budgie. The greenish-yellow ones appealed to him, but the man behind the counter recommended keeping a couple of them species, for birds on their own would get sick in no time. The same was true for guinea pigs.

Presumably he intended to boost sales with his advice. However, Robert was not too keen on rodents. Birds would be too noisy and would wrack his mother's nerves. The mere thought of her poisoning them while he was at school almost broke his heart.

Finally, he opted for a plain, pale gold fish that was going round in circles in a bulbous aquarium.

"You're a strange little fellow," Thomas concluded. "I've rarely seen an animal more boring. How about a hamster?"

No. He stuck to it. The goldfish it should be.

From part of the budget money that he put back monthly for himself, he would purchase little by a large aquarium with a water pump, plants and corals. A couple of new fish as playmates. He would look for appropriate literature to learn more about ornamental fish.

New zeal awakened in him. He would have a hobby approved by Mom, as both boys and girls get into it. He imagined them both studying books on the subject, with her giving him accessories for a huge aquarium on his birthday instead of hairdressing and bathing suits.

"An excellent choice, young man."

The shop assistant put the animal into a water-filled bag, then handing him the empty jar and a box of food as a free bonus. Beaming with delight, he took it. To name a fish, he saw no need. It certainly would not be the same like a dog or a cat. But he would take good care of it, admiring him every morning and evening.

When they returned to the car to deposit the gold fish there while Thomas and he were off to a "men's talk", he thanked him sincerely for the gold fish that he was truly happy about, along with the fact to have conquered his benevolence. Like Mom Thomas was divorced, but he did not have children.

"I'm Thomas O'Donnell," he introduced himself by his full name, as if he had never made his acquaintance before. "You can call me Tommy."

He smirked and shook his hand. "Robert."

"Let's bury the hatchet?"

He decided to give him a chance. Actually, it was good that he did not have to compete against another child, possibly even a girl.

The promised drink he had to skip when Thomas, unpractised in estimating his age, found out that he was still a minor. Learning about it, he invited him on a sundae that suited just as much. He didn't like beer anyway. Maybe he would in a few years' time.

Pulling out his handkerchief, Thomas wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was not a particularly warm day. Robert was waiting for him to talk. Certainly, he wanted to get something off his chest. Why else would he have invited him?

Finally, Thomas moved uncomfortably, stammering his request. If he could think it possible moving in together with Mum and Thomas? For the time being, they would be in her villa. Sometime later, they would move closer to the city, because Thomas was working there. As a stockbroker he did well but lived in an apartment. The house had been claimed by his ex-wife.

Dad had them generously have the mansion. Since he had already hardly been at home, it meant no great sacrifice to him. He could be anywhere at any time to find another spot in the world. Bangkok maybe or Jakarta, where he once had taken him and Mom for a holiday. A memory he had only thanks to some photographs.

"And who knows," Thomas chuckled with a nervous laugh, "At some point, maybe you'll have siblings to play with. Wouldn't that be nice?"

While he pondered about that, he found the plan to be acceptable, even though he would have to argue about a little brother or sister.

Thomas was not like Dad, neither from outside nor from within. Mom would again be like other mothers, and he himself like other children. He had a father who now and then would take him to a ball game for a change.

For the moment he had felt confidence. An impetuous, yet promising idea was brooding in his mind. Maybe Thomas could help his mother. After all, he was an adult and not biased as Dad or Aunt Amy. Since he was currently dating her and wanted to marry her, he certainly loved her almost as much as he did.

When he told him of her mania, advising to stop going out to local wine restaurants, he said nothing, mute with astonishment. At that moment he knew he had expected too much. Talking was useless. Nobody knew, and nobody wanted to help.

The ride home was uncomfortably silent. Thomas replied distracted as he shyly asked him whether he would go with him to the movies or the Natural History Museum next time.

He did not return. He had almost feared for it to happen and was disappointed at the same time. Like some naive five-year-old, he had fallen for gifts and ice cream.

For days, Mom tried to call him, but he did not answer the phone. The answering machine was deactivated. A few days later, she received a letter in which Thomas told her that their relationship was over. He didn't say why, but Robert knew it was his fault.

Her desperate frenzy bewildered him so much that he confessed their conversation, offering to call him and to plead guilty for making up her drinking issue.

She slapped him in a rage and smashed the goldfish bowl on the floor while he watched in speechless horror.

"Stupid boy! You are and will remain a millstone around my neck. What the hell do you think he will tell his friends? You've ruined it, you're ruining my life! Robyn would never have pulled such an evil trick on me. "

When she had left to drown her misery in gin and tonics, he was clasping the gold fish that was still wriggling on the carpet, put him in a jar and stormed out of the house with tears in his eyes. At the beach, he released him in the ocean, hoping for its survival in the unfamiliar freedom of salty water. Logic told him otherwise, but he wanted to cling to it with a fervour that almost tore him apart. Before he spun around, he said a short prayer for the gold fish, and for his mother.

oOo

Overwhelmed by memories he buried his face on House's shoulder, his fingers clutching his shirt. His past was still heavy on him.

He did not know how to react. The tragedy of Chase's childhood had washed over him in a shock he could hardly handle. House felt dizzy and wasted, as if he had been struck by disaster, like he had become the reluctant witness of something that sucked the life-force out of him. The crashing of an airplane, the end of mankind.

Chase was trembling in his arms. In his flashback, he was eleven or twelve.

"Robert," he whispered, tilting back his neck to caress his mortified face. His body tensed at his touch, and he sobbed and backed away. "It's okay. Everything's alright now. It wasn't your fault. "

"If only you'd been Thomas," Chase said, pressing himself against him." Everything would have turned out differently. I know you could have loved my Mum. I have often thought about you. You wouldn't have looked away, right? "

"No," he said quietly. He wasn't sure if it was true for that matter, but it wasn't relevant anyway. "But it's over now."

Still caught in his flashback, Chase drew away from him, as he had done so often before.

Slowly, House put off his shoes, pulled his pants over his hips, shirt over his head, then bedded Chase next to him, making him feel his naked skin and breath. The warmth of his body and how it smelled, the familiar ritual of undressing him, its immediacy and his familiar scent calmed him down.

The effect of the alcohol was lost on him now. Chase's childhood memory had sobered him. He was not sure whether he wanted to hear more. His secrets were not revealed completely. In a relationship, certain things should remain hidden, perhaps for the better. This was Chase's song to live up to, not his.

He was here to solve puzzles.

Chase was one of the biggest that had ever challenged him.


	7. Chapter 7

A hard blow against the bed frame abruptly awakened House. Surrounded by blurry dream visions of stepfathers in aquariums and little boys laughing at them, House rolled over to the other side to the edge of the bed.

Chase wasn't in the middle of a nightmare as he'd initially assumed. Wide-open eyes stared glassily at him without blinking. His usually golden shimmering skin was pale as a sheet. But worst of all was the shallow respiration which made him desperately struggle to breathe.

Calm on the outside, he checked Chase's pulse at the carotid artery. Something was wrong. His heart rate was going at double speed. On his burning forehead, beads of sweat glistened, and he was wheezing, giving sobbing noises now and then.

Suddenly foam and saliva poured over the half-open lips, whilst his body began to twitch convulsively. Soon after, he puked.

House hoisted him into a vertical position in order to drain the vomit and make sure that the boy was not about to suffocate. With the intention to reassure him that he was there, he got out of bed to get into his sight. There wasn't much more he could do right now.

An epileptic seizure. Caused by what? Looking back on his childhood? The lobster? Excessive binge? Ecstasy pills put secretly into a cocktail he drank yesterday? Damn those sneaky French girls!

Unfortunately, he had no Valium pills that would have calmed him down a bit. He had forgotten them back home, but it was no use crying over spilled milk.

He got hold of Chase's jaw with a grip that surprised even him. However, it was too late: the saliva turned red. Of course, he knew it would be the reasonable thing to let go and wait until the spasm would be over. Yet he was afraid that Chase could severely hurt himself, muscles tensed so much that his back arched upwards.

Another, more violent interval shifted the mattress into impetuous vibrations that were way more approved in better times. House groaned with sudden pain. Since his chin had been resting on Chase's head, he had bitten his tongue.

Gradually the seizure subsided, and Chase's breathing became deeper, and the tense muscles slowly relaxed. Exhausted almost as much as Chase, House buried his face in his lover's sweaty hair, expressing his mute gratitude to someone or something he didn't believe in.

Hours passed while he watched him sleeping, set down beside him, thus to convey his presence. Breakfast was cancelled. He was not hungry anyway.

oOo

Chase's hand took grip of his, disoriented. "House?"

"Yeah. I'm here. It's all right. You've been asleep. Go for French toast? "

"Not really. I'm awfully tired. "

"I'm not surprised. Do you remember yesterday? "

He frowned. The night club. Then nothing. Total blankness of mind. A blackout. Embarrassed, he closed his eyes.

"No."

"We were talking about Thomas," House reminded, his fingers entwined with Chase's. "The gone by-lover of your mother. You liked him because he bribed you. You wanted to trust him. He's not proven worthy your trust. He has murdered your little nameless goldfish. "

Moaning, he covered his face with his hands, but House pulled them away, reaching for his wrists in a tight grip.

"It's Daddy's day today. I want you to tell me about him, and don't you find a good excuse not to. Like rolling in the sheets. Given your best bedside manner, it would be hard to resist."

It was raining in torrents; perfect weather to go for the Louvre or the Musée d'Orsay. Unfortunately, House seemed to have had other plans.

He felt so weak he could not and did not want to talk about his father.

House leaned forward in his chair. His eyes glared at him considerately. "Well?"

"Social approval and success were more important to him than family," Chase summed together, unable to cover up the bitterness in his voice. "So everything has been said about him. I hardly knew him. He was barely at home. Maybe for a day or two. Mostly to pack his suitcases for the next appointment or to make plans about my future. "

"Which were to crush your pretty little nose and hit you with his belt. Why did he do that?"

His voice, usually cool and composed, was vibrating with anger, but not because of him, as he had anticipated in the first place.

House hated his father as much as he had hated his own. But that was wrong. Many people seem to be incapable of change, but a lot of them did in the end. Just as he had changed House without pushing it. In relation to his father he had failed.

"Maybe I did something bad," he stated quietly.

"Nothing 'bad' justifies child abuse. You're a good boy. I know you better than he ever did. What you did, you did out of helplessness because you knew no other way to keep Mom from turning into a drunken monster. You tried to tell others and ended up frustrated about the indifference of adult people. Or do you really believe that you deserved it? Then you must be a bigger moron than I thought you'd be."

"Hold me," he beseeched him.

The past strains of the _Grand Mal _made him vulnerable. House switched from the chair onto the bed, taking him gently into his arms as if to make up for his harsh words. For a while, he enjoyed the warmth that emanated from his body. Chase's shirt was sticking to his back with sweat. He loosened it and pulled it over his head, starting to massage his tense shoulders.

oOo

Memories of Dad did not hurt that much anymore, ever since House had put him in a kind of hypnosis therapy to process the traumatic experience of his father's departure. His anger he had overcome long ago, because he was now to understand his father's behaviour to a certain extent. If one acts cold and unresponsive, one was not to hurt easily. Sometimes he was in danger of becoming just like his father without intending to.

He had been a hard man, much too hard for a child like him. His occasional palpable slips had not been the worst about him, mostly because he had had a reason. The emotional indifference when he had turned his back on his family had been way more painful.

Shortly before the scheduled boarding school in Britain he announced a visit. Robert was thirteen, and the thought of how to escape the odious boarding school drove him into obsession.

The other day Mom had been admitted to the hospital once again with alcohol poisoning. According to the doctors she'd have to stay several weeks to prepare for withdrawal. It was her third in five years. Either way he would not have to expect any support from her. Boarding school was a done deal.

Until the date of his long planned departure to Europe, Aunt Amy came for a few days and took care of him. It would have been nice in the mansion with her, but she did not intend to stay. Instead, she offered him to move in with her after he had returned from abroad. But what would become of his mother? Besides, he did not want to leave for boarding school.

From what he'd heard, older students often used their privileges to require a lackey, having to take mocking and humiliations. Due to his physique and his size (still below average), he was certainly fated to be a lackey for a bully. From his lack of assertiveness, he would not talk at all.

He was afraid even of change, whether good or bad. Boarding school would not work out for him. Unlike most of his peers, he had difficulties making friends. He couldn't talk to his father about it, so he tried to persuade him to let him stay for Mom's sake.

"Your mother is better off without you now. Don't worry about her. You have to think about your own future."

On the reputation of the Chase family he had to think, not what would be best for himself or for his future that he envisioned quite differently than the father's foresaw. Studying medicine he should, following in his footsteps. Whether he liked the job was out of the question.

Doctors had a high reputation, especially those originally coming from Europe. His family had already been wealthy back in the Czech Republic.

Here in Australia, Rowan had been given the chance to build himself his own empire, using the popularity he gained by constant travelling and medical publications. Status symbols such as the mansion on the beach, a yacht in the harbour and Robert's tutors were more important than his wife and child.

Robert made a bold and desperate move. At night, he packed some food and took a hundred dollars out of the household budget, then stuffed some clothes in his backpack. Where to go, he wasn't sure about. The main thing was to get away, far away from Dad.

As soon as his mother would have been discharged, waves would smoothen. Maybe he came back after a while. But it seemed tempting to see other places. His entire childhood had been spent at a stuffy estate that seemed like a prison. On the other hand, it meant protection and routine. Perhaps he could go to Greg to North America.

oOo

Smirking, House tousled his hair. About his decision to elope, he was not all too surprised. Running away as soon as the ground was burning under their feet had been his strategy. One that seemed to be working perfectly since. "You're making this up now."

"Not a bit of it. I've really thought about it. But I didn't have your address. "

oOo

He left home behind him, never looking back out of fear to reconsider his daring call.

Not knowing where his way would take him, he ran along the beach. He could feel the soft sand under his feet. In between night and day, he enjoyed the ocean best. Glittering accents reflected on the waves of the tide while in the clouded sky seagulls were screaming.

He had to be away from here as soon as possible. Amy would be looking for him. She'd have Dad informed first thing in the morning, but he needed some time to say goodbye. The sea and the beach he'd miss the most.

At the onset of dawn, he turned towards the city. Pervaded from feverish excitement that made him tremble all over, he carefully studied the timetables at the train station.

"What are you doing all alone out here, mate? Should you not be at school? "

Startled, he spun at his heels as the hand of a railway officer was warningly placed on his shoulder.

"It's the holidays. I ... I want to go to my grandparents ... they live in Sydney," he blurted out. It was the first city that came to mind.

The railway officer scratched his neck. "There you go, however far for a lad like you, huh? You best take the XPT. The next train is leaving at half past eight. You're mighty on time, boy. Didn't your parents tell you? "

"Thanks," he breathed. "Where can I get my ticket?"

"At the counter, for sure. If you have any further questions, feel free to contact the conductor. Bon voyage," he said, tapping his cap in greeting before strolling away to lead other lost sheep like him on the right path. He had been nice, but it would be safer to get off the train a stop earlier.

The ticket was eating away his money. The rest of it he had already spent for the bus to the city. In future, he had to walk or try to sneak in as a stowaway. Had to beg for what he needed, or even steal. He was uneasy about it, but thanks to his mother, he'd brought it to a skill in the matter he could rely on.

Luxurious, like a blinding flash of blue and silver the train arrived in which he reverently searched for a seat in economy class. Meanwhile, Auntie would have taken notice of his disappearance.

His stomach tightened with mixed feelings of fear and anticipation for adventure. Breakfast would calm him down a bit. Looking out of the window, he ate his sandwich.

Anyone who was addressing him about his whereabouts, he frankly told about his grandparents who did not exist. The more often he told his story, the more he was convinced it would have been wiser to have taken the Overland west to Adelaide.

For running away, he just was not cunning enough. Not tough and tested such as Huckleberry Finn. The railway officer and the passengers who had addressed him would certainly remember him.

In Moss Vale he got out, after he had slept through almost the entire trip because he had to make up for the lack of sleep. Homesick already, he looked around, intimidated by foreign territory. He had to fight against the instinctive urge to write to Mom or make a phone call. Scalding, he remembered that he had no idea which hospital had admitted her. A fact that made him feel even more abandoned.

It was shortly before six o'clock in the evening, and he was hungry. But above all thirst anguished him. His ridiculously short stock of water was already depleted.

In the city, he did not stay for long, starting to roam into nowhere.

As his stock of food was running low as well, he could not afford to be fastidious. He picked some berries, earthworms and snails that made him gag and filled the bottle with lukewarm water from ponds. Blisters on his feet made walking difficult, so he took off his sandals, walking on bare feet.

Where to rest for the night? Distressed, he stared at the dirt and dust on the road in front of him, his pants torn by a shrub. He wanted to sit down in the middle on the road and break down crying. If he were at home, he would take a shower now and then snuggled into the sheets of his own bed in his own room.

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself as he listened to the grumbling of his stomach. What if some of the berries he ate this afternoon were poisonous? He had eaten them without knowing. Was he to make amends for his disobedience now with an agonizing death?

_Oh Lord Jesus, please have mercy. I do not want to attend that stupid boarding school, and I don't want to die either. I want to be with Mum. No one else will take care of her. Now I'm gone too. Please forgive me. I want to go home._

He had been stupid. He crawled into a haystack where he would not freeze to death. Constant sneezing and upsetting thoughts about his family made him toss and turn in restless sleep. Mom would not want him any more out of disappointment that he had shot a "boy thing."

oOo

Tired and puffy faced from crying, he went into a cafe early the next morning to check the display case while the guests eyed him in astonishment. It was their bewildered looks that made him discover straws in his uncombed hair. Moreover, he was ashamed of his dirty appearance, for the first time aware to have forgotten a brush and toilet articles.

He sat down at a table dangling his legs, recapitulating the situation, rummaging through his belongings. Much he did not have taken with him, and undeniably not something you could make money on. His situation seemed hopeless. Upset, he put his hands in his hair. But would Huckleberry Finn gave up just because the circumstances were about to get a bit tricky?

A young couple at the next table asked him to join them. Hungry as he was, he hesitated only for a second. There was coffee with extra milk and even a large piece of Pavlova-cake.

They introduced themselves as Nerida and Rick. They were not married, so she added with a rueful laugh. He went the whole hog, asking shyly if they wanted to adopt him as soon as they were. He would certainly not cause any trouble. He had told them of an orphanage, where he was eloped because the teachers were abrasive to the students.

Not sure if he was not fooling with them, Nerida (the name sounded as beautiful as she looked) asked for his name, but he cautiously concealed it, as he sought a pseudonym of his favourite book Peter Pan.

Before they could hand him over to the police, he bounced off and ran away. The young man followed close at hand, but he escaped by jumping onto a freight train rumbling over open fields.

In the middle of nowhere, the train slowed down, and he moved slowly off the buffer between the sugar cane wagons.

In the scorching afternoon heat on the asphalt he hopped as if walking on glowing coals. Upon performing his escape trick, he had lost his left sandal, and the right one had begun rasping his ankle. The resulting wound he'd been cooling with leaves more or less successfully.

Wherever he was, he knew not, and it didn't really matter to him anyway. He had never felt so miserable. His throat was dry. Water had not been found within the last passing hours, not even brackish swamp water that he wouldn't have denied himself. That was the punishment for running away, he said it himself.

Next to the road there was grass now and then that made walking barefoot at least tolerable.

In the store of the next village, he managed to get hold of a bottle of soda to stuff into his backpack. Later, when he was out of sight, it poured down his throat like champagne until he passed the next kiosk.

Terror-stricken he discovered a portrait of himself on the front page of the _Sydney Morning Herald_ and the_ Australian_.

_Thirteen-year-old doctor's son gone missing! High reward!_

He did not dare read any further. The kiosk owner had eyed at him over critically, as if he knew the contents of the entire papers word for word and picture by picture.

His torn trousers he exchanged against shorts in his backpack, wondering how to get least resemblance the most unobtrusive way as opposed to the photo in the newspaper.

Using his pocket knife, he cut off Mom's pride and joy. It almost made him glad to get rid of the girlish hair. From now on, it would be better to hide. A part of him longed for home, but the other, stronger, encouraged him to persevere a bit longer. In particular, for fear of Dad and the uninevitable fit of rage. If he was to stay away longer, perhaps the fear would go beyond anger so that at his coming home Dad would take him in his arms like the father of the prodigal son in the bible. However, it seemed quite unlikely. He could not even recall when he had embraced him.

Nervousness seized him before dark. It had been uncomfortable in the bed of hay, but he probably had no other choice than to build one again. The fields seemed to continue in vain, stretching beyond the horizon.

He passed a farmhouse, where he stole some eggs from the hen house. The thought of fried chicken appealed to him - he would be able to light a fire, matches he had in the bag - but the hens were behaving furious. Fortunately, most of the farmers cultivated the fields during the day. The angry cackle of the hens announcing the thief faded away without any consequences, because no one was home.

He would have neither the cheek nor the knowledge to pluck a chicken. Let alone to kill it.

The second night he'd spent on a tree. In climbing, he had training thanks to Aunt Amy's eucalyptus trees that he'd climbed up high to pick the leaves. It was the first thing that came in handy to him during his trip.

Despite the fact that he had to be independent early on, he realized with fright what a spoiled baby he'd been in his own universe of the mansion, which he had left only under the guidance of his nannies or parents. In the wild, he would not survive another day. A toad's croaking and the ghostly call of an owl made him wince. A lump in his throat choked him, and he crossed his arms over his bended knees, buried his face and cried himself to sleep.

Next, he found himself with a sore ankle in the moss again. Last impressions of a confused dream troubled him while he was kneading the painful smudge and then continued his journey limping, grimacing.

More than his grumbling stomach, the fear of being dehydrated bothered him. He sipped some water from a futile burbled brook, where he also took the chance to do a little washing and cleaned his sore foot. After the refreshment, he felt a bit better.

Awakened to a new self-confidence he lifted his chin, determined to not let it get to him.

Continuing ramble on the road, it apparently led him closer to the coast: a scent of salty tang spread through the air. Maybe in the port, there would be popping up an opportunity to be hired as a cabin boy like Jack Hawkins in Stevenson's _Treasure Island_.

The hope of adventure on the seven seas inspired him, and he almost ran, albeit he gritted his teeth with each step he took. He prayed that the bruised ankle was not broken.

Sharp wind came up, and it began to rain. Water drops splashed on his skin and soaked his shirt. Suddenly he felt dizzy and nauseous, literally blacked out. Weary and in pain, he fell flat faced to the ground. There was no harbour, not even the sea. What he had sensed was an oyster factory in an industrial area.

Men in tough, fishy-smelling smocks circled him, one of them feeding him with hot tea. What they said combined to an unintelligible mumble, every one talking at once.

They showed him his picture in the newspaper. He was lying on a scratchy blanket that was spread over a container, and he nodded in a daze as they supposed the boy in the paper to be him. Wet strands stuck to his forehead, but he felt too weak to stroke them back. Growling, he tried to sit up, but immediately fell down again. Fever shook him; he felt hot and cold at the same time.

_Home. I want to go home. To my mum._

One of the factory workers lifted him up into his arms if he wouldn't be no heavier than a feather. He was nice and soothed him, and he smiled at the man gratefully. He had a pockmarked face, wavy hair and dark, almost black skin as a representative of the Aborigines, whose faces he had seen only on faded photographs in the museum. Simple, unobtrusive warmth went out of him that filled him with optimism. Perhaps he had children. Suddenly he wanted to be his son.

"Are you okay," he said in a soft voice. "Don't be afraid. We take you back home."

Shivering, he crouched in the passenger seat of the van, in which the workers had him seated along with a blanket. His ankle was getting swollen and burned like hell, and he rubbed it vigorously, expressing anger towards himself and his stupidly childish behaviour to run off.

From the corner of his eye, the dark man looked at him. He was somewhat silent as he was.

"Does it hurt? Just try to breathe with me. "

He said no more, but it helped. The pain was reduced as he listened to the deep breathing of the man's and focused to imitate his rhythm. After a few minutes, he dozed off.

The doctor who was summoned to the police station diagnosed a sprained ankle.

Robert reported obediently information on everything they wanted to know, as well as the address of his parents or his guardian. Dr Rowan Chase. Mom had to give up custody. Actually, it was a farce. Although entitled to educate him, his father showed up utmost twice a year. It's been like that since he was little, but he told himself he was okay with it.

Up to Mom's moodiness due to addiction he had not really missed it, had taken growing up without a father as a matter of the inevitable.

They sent him back like a criminal, escorted by two police officers. At least they had the decency not to put him in handcuffs. However, this was maybe only because he was hobbling around on crutches and needed his arms to deal with them.

His system had been pumped up with painkillers and Paracetamol. Everything that happened around him sank into insignificance.

Dad and Aunt Amy waited in the local police station. Auntie sobbed with relief at his sight.

Like a drowned rat, he sneaked in, and Dad shot up from his seat in order to slap him full forced in the face. The signet ring, which he wore on his left hand, had split open his skin. Sudden, tingling pain went through his nose to the brain. The last thing he saw before passing out was the bewildered face of Amy, as in shock she pressed both hands over her mouth, followed by a red veil, in which white and black stars flickered.

oOo

Subsequently, he had to stay in the hospital, where he'd fantasize between waking and dreaming. He became seriously ill. The fever degenerated into pneumonia. His nose, broken by his father in ferocity, had to be splinted; a wound under the eye had to be stitched. In the first days, he was constantly struggling with the feeling of suffocation and was afraid to look in the mirror.

Visits he received only from Aunt Amy, not from Dad. Immediately after the last adventure unscathed, he had to travel to Britain without his son. Another suitable candidate coveted the study site, after Dad had informed the Boarding school principal about Robert's unlucky trip that was not explained in more specific details.

Despite the misguided action he had taken, he couldn't help but to feel a bit proud of himself.

Worried and relieved at the same time, Amy handed a message to him, written as if being an article printed in a magazine. Its content he knew by heart to the present day.

_I am sorry for what happened. I was so upset and worried about you. My schedule has it I cannot apologize personally to you, because I will be on my way to Great Britain when you read this. I am trying to understand you. Perhaps you are right, and the time is not quite right for you to leave. Mama will be out of the hospital soon. She will be depending on you, so take good care of her. In a few months from now, you'll look at things differently. Also, try to understand me. I only want what is best for you._

On his returning home, he was surprised with a reconciliation gift, a fully-grown Golden Retriever, presented by Aunt Amy.

"Meet Dandylion" she introduced the dog. "He's well-trained, the dog of a deceased patient of a colleague's from your dad who was worried about what would happen after his passing away. Your father has promised to take care in the matter. He thinks it would be nice if you made friends with Dandy. "


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **_Thanks for your encouraging reviews and PMs; you're lovely! _

_Pallada, sweetie, I get back to you asap!_

_Calico17, what would I do without you? A Pizza Hawaii just for you as soon as my wallet allows. It could take a while, so please remind me... xxx  
_

_This chapter contains a bit more than slash. All you minors out there, you know what to do. Explore the age-appropriate stories here on FF, they're fun, too.  
_

* * *

After so many years of keeping it to himself, the memories of his story got to him even more. Defenceless, he leaned into House, who suspected that he would be the first and probably the only person he ever told.

He was clutching Chase's warm shoulder. Heat rose from the youthful skin, manifested in a tangy aroma of musk and the beguiling sweet smell of overripe fruit. Hitting the sheets still seemed not the right thing to do.

He would not pounce on him every day. As fulfilling and pleasing as it was, sex was not the most important thing between them (at least that's what House kept telling to himself). Of Chase's attitude to the physical aspect in their relationship, he was still in the dark. Undoubtly, it flattered him to be sought after, and he excelled every time they slept together; taking House by surprise with his audacious freshness. Some time later, though, he occasionally heard him cry into the pillow. Whether for pleasure or conflict, he did not know. Oddly, he didn't seem to find the guts to ask him.

It had been different last time. The enchanting straightforwardness in which he had given himself had tempted House to do more than usual, even drove him to working a bit rough on him.

In general, he prohibited himself to neglect Chase's abuse that was always in the back of his mind as a permanent reminder, telling him to be careful with his lover. He wouldn't go as far as to refer to their sexual interaction as 'tender', but actually, it was matching to the point.

Sighing, he restrained himself by exhaling loudly. He bowed his head to caress Chase's cheek bone. Overwhelmed by the touch of his lips, the boy turned to him on his back before he sat up and started to indulge him with his hands and mouth.

Meanwhile, he truly believed that he could not do anymore without Chase. All of the little things that they had discovered about each other, it meant something to him. The way it was burning inside him when he got to touch his velvety-soft skin, covered with slight, golden fuzzy hair. Even the annoying but sweet accent he would miss. He'd never get enough to touch him, to taste and smell him, without depriving him of his personality and his free will.

If this wasn't love, what else would one call it then?

In an exploring way that seemed shy all the same, Chase smoothly worked his way up on his neck and jaw to lock lips with his. Initially cautious, House nibbled at them as tasting a rare oriental sweetness. The partly playful and gently inquiring kiss lasted a long time without either of them running out of breath. It was a kiss of understanding, harmonious delicacy that they exchanged not often.

_My baby. Stay with me. That's where you belong. You're mine now, don't you see?_

Both had a hard time to return to the present. Chase trembled in his embrace. Softly, House combed back the stringy hair with his fingers to reassure him further while he stared broodingly into nowhere. He needed some time for himself to sort out his feelings.

So that was how he had come to the scar under his eye and the nasal fracture. Due to the lashing out of a concerned father. The letter - the exquisite excuse of a coward – had been a fraught, albeit apparently it had meant a lot to Chase back then.

If he'd really been concerned about his son, Rowan had dealt on a personal basis with him, talked to him about his aspirations and hopes. Foremost, he should have addressed the mother's drinking problems.

"My father was not so bad," Chase said as House remained silent, his fingertips placed over the no longer palpable fracture of the nose. "His mistake was that he didn't know how to deal with me. I was to stay with Mum because she needed me, because no one else was there. I could be pretty stubborn. "

Just like Dad. But thankfully he was not cold enough to follow his life-time attitude.

"I stick to the concept that the poor bastard offered you no more than ignorance. The way he put you under pressure and had your future planned had nothing to do with concern or fatherly affection. You deserve a lot more than that. And I don't refer to spanking as foreplay and your pristine qualities as a lover."

"He left me a choice. I was allowed to decide for myself after boarding school."

Yes. The rest of the story he knew. Half a year of preparation for the seminary, held in the framework that struggled in conflict with the doctrine of chastity and innocence. Lechery of nuns and monks had spoiled Robert's brilliant future career as a priest entirely. Although he definitely hadn't told Daddy of being abused behind monastic walls, Chase senior had finally gotten his way after all.

With no desire or ambition whatsoever, Chase junior had chosen to be attending medical school.

His apprentice file was not bursting with top ratings, but that wasn't the reason why he had hired him.

More important to him was the curiosity in which young Chase hung on every word House said. His inquiring mind had evolved. Meanwhile, he'd outdo his peers.

Chase's enthusiasm as an applicant had filled him with pride, confirming his decision to let him work in his department.

Even Wilson, who boasted knowledge of human nature, had been fooled by his splendid appearance and politeness. After the trial period, the nice boy would be a fading memory, he had predicted. But House had been sure there was more to it. He had been right and had turned the mistrust of colleagues into absurdity.

oOo

Chase shifted his weight by slipping down a little, his fingers drawing invisible circles on House's skin. He was tugging at House's chest hair in a casual manner as it was done by Chase alone; a gesture that bewitched him for lack of will. The blonde strands that were falling out of place brushed exhilaratingly over his neck while Chase started to lick his nibbles. House remained in a pleasant, mild excitement phase.

"Perhaps... if I'd been a girl ... then everything wouldn't have happened. Probably Dad wouldn't have abandoned us - and Mum wouldn't have start drinking. "

"Stop torturing yourself for something that's beyond your control," House muttered, before lifting the younger man's chin. His green-blue eyes were reddened with sadness. Gradually he made the idea of his faulty chosen gender responsible for all of his misery. Hanging on to theory was a waste of time. It frightened him, because it was not Chase how he knew him.

"You know damn well that you only feel sorry for yourself. It would have changed nothing. If you were a girl, Mom would have liked to have a boy. Dad could not have saved you. I don't care if you're a girl, a boy, both or neither. You have the most marvellous tush and pretty pretty hair. That's all I need."

Showing no apparent turmoil he was weeping silently in House's collarbone, bedding his head on him. It was not scary, but oddly familiar and almost beautiful to feel his tears on bare skin.

Finally, he rested in House's arms and he dozed off again. House called the reception and promised to give the staff an extra tip, if given a late breakfast to the room.

oOo

Chase opened the door to take the tray from the chamber maid before she was able to peek in. He returned to bed and settled next to him, then poured two cups of coffee.

"Not a morning person, are we."

"_Bonjour_, House", he said, his mouth full of whipped cream. House was enthralled. He could not control himself and kissed him hard. Countering his action, the boy was pushing the half eaten meringue into House's mouth.

"Mmm..." House purred. "I love baisers. It's French for kiss, you know."

Encouraged by his unexpected playfulness, Chase exchanged the last bit of cream with him. As he laughed out with delight, bits of white foam were splashed over House's face and neck. Chase leaned forward to clean his skin with his mouth and tongue, sucking on the most sensitive parts – neckline, nipples, belly button, - to cause him shivers running down his spine. He was magnificent, so fantastic and temptingly frisky. House was seriously to reconsider his resolution not to have sex with him this morning.

"A magical moment," he said hoarsely, letting good intentions fade into obscurity as he looked into Chase's half-closed eyes and felt his hands everywhere, wandering over his throat down the chest to the abdomen and a bit lower.

Body language was Chase's most favourable way of communication, and House never failed to read it properly. "We want to let it cross the room or not? It's not like they don't renew the sheets every day."

"Fuck me," he answered. "Fuck me hard. I wanna feel you all day long."

"You don't know what you're asking for", he replied, smirking.

Full of excitement, Chase gave the assurance that he really wanted it. House reached around him and pulled him up. A haunting noise came deep down out of his his throat that could be sobbing or laughing. Probably both. Sometimes he acted as excited and restless as back on the day when he had still been a back door virgin. But it was great. He liked it. As long as he could be sure that the fear was not on hand, his coquetry aroused him in unexpected ways.

He soothingly caressed his neck and back, as his lover sobbed briefly. House pressed the lithe body toward the bedstead, and Chase took his finger in his mouth. Unexpectedly, he bit him, instead to lick and moisten his fingers for the obligatory foreplay.

The flaring pain of the bite was flooded by a wave of ecstasy when his erection lightly touched Chase's crack between well rounded buns, moving upside down. Gently but still a bit impetuous Chase urged him to get inside him. As a precaution, he pulled back a bit. Perhaps he had overdone it. His heart was pounding fit to burst as well as Chase's. He could see him tremble all over, pulsating, panting with endurable pain as he tried again.

Silently pleading for forgiveness, his lips were brushing over his ear, throat and neck. Chase's reaction was not long in coming. The area of skin covered by beads of sweat seemed to glow in white sheets. His opening was so temptingly tight, hot and wet it had taken less than saliva to make it supple and soft to break down instinctive resistance. But there still was enough friction to feel something that would satisfy both him and his lover to end up collapsing in the bed. Until then, he savoured the thought of wild fantasies which came true before his very eyes, and he worshipped the touch of their sweaty bodies mingled in aroused heat and the repetitively clasping sound of flesh against flesh.

The stimulation to meet him, to work his way up his precious ass pulled him completely under its spell. Chase gave a frustrated snort when House reluctantly pulled away from him. He loved playing with him, teasing him and challenging his juvenile greediness.

When he was caught inside him and Chase begged for more, he gently pushed.

Gasping, the boy's face turned to the side to fix him from the corner of his eye.

His beautiful sensual lips suggested a smile as he whispered his first name, which he so rarely used.

The small, amazing, panting sounds which he gave him, they were absolutely wonderful and worth every effort to hold back. Determined to make the most of it, to avoid any inconvenience, he was kissing him wherever he could mark him, tasting his own astringent flavour on the youthful skin.

Shifting his weight, he was distracted a little from the effect of his now restrained, but still passionate movements which Chase reciprocated in a surprisingly reckless way.

Although House knew he did the bottom better than he ever would be able to, he was relieved when he managed to ease the well-known pain he had to take in the beginning.

He slowly led him to where he wanted to be. He continued to stimulate the perfect, little roundness inside his thrashing body, knowing it wouldn't take much longer until he would writhe with overpowering and heavy contractions of his muscles.

Fast satisfaction was not what they were up to. Chase's ability to relish a gradually increasing orgasm instead of a short, violent delight came in handy, although he also liked him wild and determined.

It was the variety that appealed most to him, as it extended his own arousal. It was a challenge to hold level, to pace himself, making it more and more pleasant each time for his young lover. As if it was the first and last time. Before getting Chase laid, he had not believed that it could be as romantic among men.

"Damn… you're good," he whispered in his sweaty, stringy hair and kissed the spot between his shoulder blades.

Chase was wheezing under the light touch, his body shaken with pleasure (not pain - he had found out), as House's hips came a little closer to move forcefully toward him. For a second, he held still, awaiting his reaction that consisted of willing to work against him almost roughly. That was exactly what he wanted from him. He pushed forward.

Chase responded with a whimper that soon increased into sobbing, as he further thrusted into him just far enough to feel him respond. He covered his body with his own, sensed his breath in his abdomen, felt the firmness of his wonderful belly, rigid with sexual pressure. Everything about him was wonderful. He could not say what he liked most about him. It was almost a miracle what he gave him, letting him do all that.

His neck and shoulders again caressing with his lips, he made him shudder before he again put his hands on his waist and gently but steadily moved inside of him. Chase was sobbing in the gentle rhythm of his movements, and it sounded almost liberated. Full of bliss.

House put his arm around him, while his other hand, entangled with Chase's, he fixed to the bedpost. Closing his eyes, he held him, leaned against him, inside him. Again and again the muscles tightened and contracted, seemingly sucking him inside. He did not know how long he would stand it.

He did not want to cause him pain, but felt that they both started to enjoy it. When he found him, forcefully this time, Chase yelped in surprise. He felt an incredible release, felt his sweat ran in streams over their intertwined bodies, while Chase was trembling and moved toward the end of the bed, with his last strength upright holding.

"More," he demanded, hardly able to speak. "Oh, House… Please ... _a__h... ah..._"

His teeth dug into his lower lip, and his desirable ass pushed into him. He grabbed his hips and pulled him towards his erect cock as hard as he could.

Dizziness caged him while he inhaled astringent intermingling scents, exciting in their diversity. He reached him again and again, drove him to a point where he could not control himself nor wanted to.

Chase began to howl. It was a sound that put him in highest ecstasy, because it sounded almost elated and invigorating.

He drew back, gave him a moment, until he was soft and yielding to make him penetrate him again. This time he did it all the way, providing him with a blessing that left him breathless.

Appreciatively, he stroked upwards his neck in his thick, sweat-damp hair. By sheer weight shift, he managed to stay with him, to feel the contractions that pushed inevitably towards a sensationally intense climax as they always did.

He didn't know if Chase was about ready, as he was to come violently, and with a muffled scream poured his sperm into him. It was so incredibly good that he felt like passing out right here on Chase's back. Both arms around him, he collapsed, and Chase began to laugh so freely and as happy as he had not heard from him for a long time.

"You've made me sore. It burns like hell," he mumbled into the pillow, still an undercurrent of laughter dwelling in his throat that made clear how proud he was even of his burning butt (however, he did ask for it) and about what had taken place between them. Literally behind Chase's delightful back, shiny with sweat.

"Then we did good."

Chase leaned against him, sweaty and exhausted by blissful endorphins. "You're evil."

"You're not bad, either." Embracing drowsiness and inhaling the bitter-sweet smell of sex on both of their skin and the sheets, he ruffled Chase's floppy hair. "For a beginner, that is."

Chase stifled a giggle at his shoulder before he propped on his elbow and gazed at him. The fingers of his left played with the fine hair on House's chest before wandering deeper. He would have liked to admit defeat to his little plan. Or, alternatively, take him immediately into possession again.

"Something you're clearly not." Chase made the unsuccessful attempt to sulk (which looked lovely), but his eyes under heavy lids were shining with joy and disbelief at what he just had unleashed in him.

He was still throbbing with involuntary internal muscle contractions. "You're tall."

"Tall men indicate great pleasure."

He smiled mischievously. "They obviously do."

oOo

The rain had stopped. House suggested a walk to the Tuileries and the Eiffel Tower, although he would have preferred to slouch on with Chase in bed until their departure.

He couldn't think of no better place for them both. Pensive, he stroked the curve of the irresistibly strong leg that had settled over him like a band of subtly tanned skin and firm muscles. At first contact, Chase flinched, then relaxed and felt obviously safe.

The muscular thighs, the angled knee, the tibia bone and slender ankle, all of his traits he touched in diligence, as if he had never felt before. And yet Chase's body was as familiar to him as his own, even more so.

"Get out of bed, sleeping beauty."

"What for?" Raising his boyish, slightly tanned torso, he stifled a yawn on House's shoulder and squeezed a tiny bit of his skin with his teeth. "I'm content being here with you. I don't need anything else."

"I wanna show you something."

"You just have," he replied teasingly. "I'm done for the moment. Don't tell me you're not. You're twice my age."

"Not quite. Besides, old age apparently pays off for you."

"Show-off."

"Sissy."

"If this means waking up every morning beside you, I take sissy as a pet name."

His eyes flashed, his hair dishevelled, which made him appear like a rascal. He exuded an unprecedented sensuality and smell of desire and dedication that House would've rather liked to once again take advantage of.

Idly, he fed him a leftover slice of orange. In a straight line, juice ran over the elfin jaw along the throat to the pounding jugular notch, before House licked it up backwards and heard him moan with exhilaration, digging his fingers into his grey temples.

Undoubtedly, the involuntary morning sex had been a lot of fun for both of them. Lustful, eager and somewhat selfish, he had enjoyed to have Chase undergo a test that he has passed with flying colours. Like everything he did. Shine. Be good. Be surprising. It's been the mantra of Robert Chase's. He did not go so badly.

"It's not like you can wake up in a French bed every morning with the view of the Eiffel Tower. In Jersey, on the other hand..." He let his voice trail off, implying what he could have back home.

Chase rolled his eyes, then snickered half flattered, half sleepy. It sounded very sexy. "I don't feel like doing sight-seeing right now."

"I don't want to know what else you and I will be feeling like in ten minutes. Get up unless you want to kill me."

He got lost in studying the fascinating interaction of the strong muscles and tendons as Chase wandered around, slipping cheerfully into his clothes that were spread all over the room.

Every look that passed at him was wasted.

He slowly turned into an old, sentimental fool. Truth be told, he couldn't deny it wasn't so bad being a fool.


	9. Chapter 9

From below the Eiffel Tower, they admired the massive steel structure of the symbol of the city. Souvenir stands still touted the miniature version of the Eiffel Tower that little Robert had bought as a souvenir for his mother back then. He presented one to House with both a laughing and a crying eye before tucking it into his messenger bag.

"Still afraid of heights and giant houses?"

The question came up as an evocative ambiguity. He himself was above average height.

"Some less," he parried, smiling, uncertain to some extend. He grabbed House's arm to move away from the tower. "But I would rather not ascent."

"The Chateau Briand up there was the best I ever had. Let's see if the maître is still the same. You haven't been to Paris unless you had a meal in dizzy heights."

Reluctantly, he complied.

On the platform, his eyes were as empty as the ones of a blind man, and he reached mechanically for House's jacket, as if to hold on to him and never let go. It was still inside him, the fear that he had endured at the Rialto Towers when he got lost. Never underestimate an early childhood trauma.

With a sudden onset of clarity he figured the cause of Chase's seizure in the morning. It was not poking around in his unquestionably ill-fated youth or due to an explosive cocktail, not even the departure of his father. Chase now had a new daddy. One who took care of him. House had been more than Chase ever dreamed of in the sufficiency in which he had grown up. He was afraid of being abandoned once again. The nightclub where he had urged him to dance with a girl had triggered the fit.

In the emotionally disturbed Chase, it had awakened the impression that he wanted to get rid of him.

"Chase," he said emphatically, eager to bring him back. "When you start gasping, I won't be able to help you, because this time there's no inhaler in your backpack."

"Don't... Please don't leave me. "

His breathing went into panting as House took off his jacket, thus depriving Chase of his security. It was useless to try to free him from his flashback, so he played along.

"I'm here, Robert. It's all right. "

"Will you stay?"

He was barely audible and on the verge of panic.

House took his arm, maintaining contact with the blue green eyes desperately seeking to capture his view. He looked into the eyes of Little Chase, who so valiantly tried to not get hurt by the horrors of an impending farewell. God alone knew what those eyes were seeing right now. A young, dynamic House perhaps who left without saying goodbye, let alone taken him to the States with him.

But even if he had, it would have not been a bed of roses either, and on top of it, it'd had been totally unrealistic. At that time, Chase still had both his parents. And that was just the obvious reason. Although he had enjoyed the kid's company, almost about to develop something like paternal feelings, he would have crushed him in the long run with his ego.

Chase had been forced to look for himself in time. Certainly, there would have been tension similar to that that had characterized their previous employment. However, the minimal chance would have insisted that he would have done differently with the small, bright boy. In addition, Chase had the rare ability to adapt to his current life circumstances, as opposed to him. It was something that his mother taught him unconsciously.

Not that House could have made an attempt to invite him for a drink or go to the movies, but his stoic manner had irritated him ever since. The desire to discover the secrets behind the smooth, boyish face, had been burning inside him like a fever.

Suddenly he wished to have known him at least before his infarction. Many things would have been easier if he had had the certainty of being able to rely on someone when times got rough. Chase stayed with him, and he took him as he was, without criticism, without blame as opposed to Wilson or Cuddy. Even Stacy's beautiful words had left a bitter taste. Chase did not talk much, he was there, paying attention, and that was enough. With this method he had tamed House's selfishness.

"If you want me to, I'll stay."

"Thanks," he whispered.

Willing to engage in a little nostalgic game, he placed three different coins in a row on the table. The temptation was too great, his curiosity was piqued. And Chase was still the little boy because he knew what was required of him.

"I have to go to the boy's room. Meanwhile, you have to take care of my money. Pick a coin and close your eyes. You have to concentrate on the coin. When I call you, you put it back on the table, and I'll tell you which one you've picked. "

"Can't I go with you?"

"It's not the rules."

Prepared to accept, he closed his eyes, not only to do him a favour. He didn't want him to see the pain.

Striving to produce the cane no telltale noises, he got up. But he did not go far, but stood behind him waiting to see how he reacted.

Absent-minded, Chase took a coin, closed his fingers around it and pressed it on his cheek. After a short time he began to speak softly, as if lost in a fever and a prayer.

"I have but one wish, Greg. My third and my last, but certainly it's very presumptuous, so I say it just for myself. If it's not too much to ask, let me go with you. I know this is sin, but I'm a bad son for my parents, and maybe I wouldn't be for you.

I don't want to be with my mother because she hates me just like my father does. I'm not what they want me to be. When I'm gone, they'll stop worrying about me. I want to be with you. Please. I can cook and clean and I will definitely not take much space away. I'll do anything you say. It doesn't matter that you can be strict. Then I know I'm not indifferent to you. At home it doesn't matter what I do. I would like to have a real father. Someone like you, to laugh with and do crazy things with. Someone who tells me right from wrong. Mum does that too, but differently than you do. Sometimes it's funny, but mostly it makes me weep. I've never laughed so much as with you. Maybe I'm not so bad then. Not for you. We could be a family, couldn't we? "

The very same words he apparently said sixteen years ago when reverently sitting at the table waiting for him.

At least he did not seem to have been resentful. It was a quality he admired and the same time was presented as a puzzle. He would have had every reason to despise him, but with all reticence, he was often willing to take the first step to deal with those who had hurt him.

With a discreet cough, he put his hands on his shoulders.

"I can not fulfil your request."

Startled, he spun around. The coin in his hand fell to the ground while the veil in his eyes withdrew.

"What? Did I say something stupid?"

"I would have failed in being a father to you. Maybe you would have liked it, first. You would have been allowed to be everything you want, even to become a priest. Although I'm sure that under my influence, you'd never thought about it in the first place. On the other hand, I'm glad I'm not you father. I would have screwed up like Mommy did because I would have been hard without intending to.

My father was as hard as yours, but you're not like me. You know why? Because your mother was with you. She saved you from getting bitter. Mine couldn't because what my father said was the law. She always supported his opinion. That was not much help. Sometimes I think she was afraid of him. Not once she'd deliberately taken sides for me. I was her only son, and the fool she married was not even related to me. I know you believe you have been a burden to your mother, but in her own way, she gave you the feeling of being needed and to be strong. She had encouraged you to get your own life under control. In some ways you have remained a child. Due to your childhood, you have kept the gift of appreciating the little things like sunsets and a rainbow. To take the good with the bad. As for your mother, I'm a bit like her, right? But I'm also a bit like Daddy. So you tried to see me differently, although I have never encouraged you to.

Your persistence is something that is worth much to me. It helped me change. You wouldn't have if I had raised you. However, I have made a mistake back then. I missed your call for help. You couldn't tell me. I knew you've been neglected and I didn't do anything about it. I didn't even speak with your father. I wanted to, but when I did, it was too late. It's my fault, not yours. I don't know if it would make a difference, but I should have left my address. You could have written to me, then. I'm sorry, Chase. I think you were not important enough to me. It had been flattering to bask in the admiration of a little boy, that's all it was. I've forgotten you. I've never been the family guy. I'll never be. Not even for you. "

For a while, Chase remained silent. He didn't look at him, playing with the cutlery and the spice rack on the table. Truth hurts. Of course it did. More so after what had happened in the hotel room - and yesterday in the park

At last he had himself back to his senses, still unable to look at him. His voice was tiny.

"Why do you say that to me?"

"I'm for clarity. Always have been. Don't cling to someone who doesn't give a crap. "

"I'm not a kid anymore," he muttered at last, it sounded defiant. "And you are not like my parents. And certainly not like my father."

"Do you want to beat him?"

Bewildered, he finally turned his eyes on him. "How?"

"Go all the way up to the apex. A hundred bucks say that you'll make it this time. The little boy didn't."

He shook his head, dumbfounded. "No."

"Why not? You said you were not a kid anymore. Then act like an adult. "

Frowning, the young man picked up his wine glass. House longed for a magic word that made him forget his entire and almost cruel monologue. However, knowing that he never lied to him, he'd sense his bad conscience beyond some lame excuse. That was one of their unspoken rules: Honesty and truth between each other, as uncomfortable as they might be. The fact that he was a loner and did not care about conventions, he had made clear from the start, not only what their private lives were concerned.

Chase stood stubborn, hacking away at the tender flesh on the plate, as if to have to punish House.

"There's no point in trying to outdo my father. I don't have to prove anything to a dead man. "

"Perhaps you have to prove something to me."

He dropped his knife and fork, his complexion ashen. "What's this about, House? I won't go up there, I've told you before. Now we are here, I think that's enough. Also, you're wrong. I'm not afraid of heights. "

Not the fear of heights kept him from implementing his suggestion into practice, for which he would have had understanding. But the cause had to be found in the early childhood trauma, and he felt that given the chance, Chase was able to overcome it.

"Five hundred dollars," he raised the stakes. "If you don't succeed, I leave you. And not just on a private basis. You will no longer work for me, neither in my office nor in my bed."

He pouted. "What have I done? Why do you have to be mean? I'm annoying you, right? If so, you better say it right away."

"Go," he said. "I'm waiting."

oOo

His heart was pounding into his throat and made his chest ache. House called him back and waved with a digital camera.

"Snap a photo when at the top. The view will be magnificent. For cripples, the ascent to the holy of holies is unfortunately denied. And don't you dare give my precious instrument to borrow in foreign custody. Otherwise, it's gone, just like you. Then you fly home with Qantas."

Growling, he took the camera that referred to as his "instrument" with sweaty hands. He really had thought of everything. The only consolation was that he did not have to go on foot up to this point that could only be reached with the elevator.

The crowd stirred additional anxiety in him. Every moment he expected to spot a limping man down at the tiny square underneath, moving away from the tower.

House would not stay with him, he had suspected, but their arrangement was different, at least from his side. The presence of the man he once feared and worshipped exerted a salutary effect on him, soothed the pain, which he imposed upon him. Like when he urged him to talk about the past. Basically, his past was something that no one ever had been concerned about. Except for House, who became his lover. Therefore he had the right to know what was distressing him.

_You are so ugly on the inside_, he had once told him. Meanwhile, or gradually, he learned to trust House and be better. It had been a lengthy, often painful process, but it certainly was much more pleasant than to weep with a psychologist.

Physically, it was surprisingly not a big problem. He considered him a great addition in his social life. Sometimes it frightened him. What was it that made House different from other men, making him occasionally forget that he considered himself a straight guy?

He enjoyed his company, to be trifled with him when he was asking for a "game". When they were together, he thought he'd pass away in delight and never be able to feel the same with a woman, let alone with someone to provide so much pleasure as House did.

Any comparison of previous relationships failed because of the delicacy and yet surprising, sometimes unrestrained spontaneity of his older lover. Maybe – undeniably -, House wouldn't be pleased to hear this corny confession.

He probably thought it was time to go separate ways, for his sake as much as for Chase's. Because he'd let him act "against his nature", as he'd put it.

And yet he had grown accustomed to him as heavy smokers did to their daily dose of cigarettes. You could read and see about the dangers of blue dust everywhere, but few have been firm enough to do without the dubious benefits of it.

He was not ready to leave. How could he explain to him? He didn't want to be a burden, but he even less liked the idea of being alone. To be left behind again.

Moreover, he loved House more than he had loved his parents or anyone else. Had he ever told him? Ashamed, he noted that for House, it was easier to reveal his feelings, may they be good or bad.

Why was House so complicated, why was it so hard to see through him, to get inside his head? His mother would have been able to understand House. He was actually kind of like she had been.

With shaky knees and a deep breath, he stumbled out of the cabin. Noisy tourists and school groups streamed past him, most devoted to the prospect of a single glance from high above. Chase hurried on to a vertical lift, which seemed much too small and flimsy to withstand such a huge crowd.

A sign noted that the access was prohibited for people with physical disabilities. Like House said.

Sighing, he stood in line and pondered with mixed feelings about how he had been waiting as a child to get up there with House. They had taken the stairs, because his friend had said that it was more eventful and exciting for him than taking the elevator. He had not dared to object, because he really wanted to try. Originally he had hoped to go up with Dad, but his conference took him completely busy, and House seemed to have shared his own opinion: who was already in Paris and didn't conquer the Eiffel Tower? That would be ridiculous.

Nevertheless, stress and panic had go him hay-wire, just like now. That the incident should be related to the early experience on the Rialto Towers, as House had told him, didn't seem very likely. Like so many memories it had faded out.

He longingly recalled House's kindness, the warmth in his voice when he so calmly put him into his arms and, carrying him, returned to the first floor. He had not made a fuss like his father would have done.

Although he had had to struggle with an asthma attack, he had been sure nothing would happen to him as long as Greg kept him in his arms.

oOo

One could hear and feel the wind rush past the notorious fragile construction of the building. Or he made it himself in his unsteady state, which ultimately did not matter. Deluded or not - his heart rate got up while his body was shaken with noradrenalin.

The air in the small elevator was impregnated with sweat and perfume. With difficulty he forced himself to diaphragmatic breathing. Typical harbingers of a panic attack lowered upon him, dry mouth, heart palpitations, tremors, sweating.

Underneath him, the floor was missing. In his imagination he was balancing all alone on a steel beam that floated freely in space. Desperate, he sought from the nameless faces that flowed like pictures or a movie passing him. He was looking for support and did not find his face in the crowd. House's cell phone camera slipped from his hands.

A door to a conference room opened and he saw himself with his father standing in front that loomed over him like a mountain: insurmountable, firm and strong. Behind him, he spotted doctors (colleagues) at a long table laden with pastries and beverages of any kind. Annoyed, they glared at him, only one female doctor threw him a twitching smile. Dad was an important man, but not for him nor for Mum.

_You wait here, do you understand? I need to discuss something important. Just wait a little longer, and when I'm finished here, I'll show you where the river meets the sea. Don't go too far away and don't talk to strangers._

_Why can't I come in? Or be with Mum instead?_

_You would get bored. Mum's not well today, that's why you're here with me in the first place. Let's make the best of it. You're a big boy, aren't you?_

_Yes, sir._

_Then wait until I get back._

"Dad," he whispered and closed his eyes. "Where are you? Don't let me here!"

One wrong step and he would fall.

He screamed when something happened that he was unable to stop. From one moment to the other, he lost himself.

"Shh ... it's alright. Everything's okay." Someone snatched his arm, held him, made him feel save again. "It's okay. You have nothing to worry about. I'm here with you. Open your eyes."

The scent emerging from him, somewhat spicy and arousing, he knew along with the coarse voice that failed to conceal its affection. Irritated his look moved further up, to meet piercing blue eyes.

"House." Relieved, he fell against him, his muscles sore with tension, his breath shallow. "Oh God..."

"Not quite, but close. Come on. Take your picture, so we can leave this damned place already. I'm giddy." Without letting go of him, he reached for the phone on the ground and handed it over to him. The flowing elegance of movement stunned Chase.

"I need you," he stammered, hugging his neck again. Everything around him became blurred. House's fingers stroked the carotid artery in order to slow down the pulse. He knew he was very upset, which was inappropriate, but he could not help it. The slightly nasal-sounding voice now took on a deeper tone.

"I'm here, Chase."

The nervous tension slowly evaporated in a sobbing cry that was banned into House's T-shirt. "How did you make it up to here?"

"Private jet." Without any signs of embarrassment he nudged his nose against Chase's and went on, his fingers intertwined behind his back. "The liftboy has a big heart. I told him a touching love story he couldn't oppose. Romantic fools they are, the French."

"What?"

"We're celebrating our engagement," he said seriously, almost solemnly. "Come back down when you have your snapshot done. I have ordered chilled champagne for a toast."

He twisted his mouth into a smile that let him shine from within. The somewhat crude humour was one of the many things they had in common. Chase understood right away.

"You're crazy."

"You're making me. The engagement was a joke. The champagne isn't. "

Chase switched on the cell phone to take a picture that turned out to be distorted. Much to his surprise, House didn't mind.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N:** This is the last chapter (phew, finally!). I apologize for the delay; have been busy elsewhere... hope you enjoyed the story!  
_

_Pallada, I owe you. Thanks for your lovely PM. (O:_

_As always, regards and much love to Calico (I owe you, too._ _How about Thai food?)_**  
**

* * *

It could have been a fitting highlight to their journey. Chase had defeated his daddy-issues for the time from top to bottom. Nevertheless, the whole trip ended unsatisfied. There still was something that haunted him, and that he couldn't tell House.

He did not know why. The thought tormented him at least as well as Chase, who woke up at night from a nightmare, not being responsive. Anxious and gasping for breath, he grasped for the older man, who turned on the light of the bedside lamp. He was so attractive and in need, so grateful for his presence, that he almost regretted not having bought any engagement rings. They would have worn them only in private. The crazy idea of being secretly engaged had Chase's mood cheered up, and House would have liked to hear his sparkling, mischievous laughter all night. It would have been a small insider's joke between the two of them.

"Hey. What's up? "

"Don't know," he muttered as he impaled his fists into his eye sockets. "I was dreaming of Mum."

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"No", he asserted and tried to wrest from his embrace that House intensified at his crossness, chin on the blond head. Only a brief moment he felt him struggle before Chase gave in. His skin was hot with cold sweat, and House was not sure whether he was feverish. "It wasn't a dream."

"You feared her more than Dad, right?"

Restless, he wrapped his arms around him and dug his face into his shoulder, as if trying to hide himself. "It was different then. I didn't recognize her again, and sometimes I hated her. But she was my mother. "

Encouraging him to get it off his chest, House combed his hair with his fingers. "What is it? What happened? "

"I didn't want it to happen. I really didn't. "

oOo

He had never seen her so happy before. Finally she responded to his desire to move into another room.

Daniel had laughed at him when he had invited him furtively, saying that he was living like a pampered storybook princess in pink tulle with roses and patterned bedding.

Actually, Daniel was his only friend since kindergarten, although he was two years older and much too wild for him, like Mom and Dad used to say. A bad influence as well was the fact that he belonged to Protestant church.

oOo

He was eight when something happened to Mom. She was literally transformed. From one day to another, she laughed and sparkled with life. He wished her to stay that way, because finally one could see how beautiful she really was. In the past he had always seen her just sad. As she'd be missing something or someone she couldn't have. Dad perhaps. He often felt the same. Especially when he had to watch other boys his age go to a football game or a hockey match with their fathers.

Even the pool had been filled with water; something she had never done before for fear he would be drowning. While he practiced crawling, romping around, she would pose on the rim in a sleek bathing suit like a Hollywood beauty (Grace Kelly), and was swinging her legs charmingly in cool water or was throwing a coin that he was diving after. Sometimes she invited him to join her. He'd eagerly paddle to the pool edge to get a kiss or some candy. If she was in a particularly good mood, she lifted him up to her and sang evergreens like _Singin 'in the Rain_ or Judy Garland's _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_ and _Stormy Weather_.

If there were a school subject of Hollywood's heyday in the forties, he would be the best in his class.

She had made him taste the colourful drinks, which always stood ready as if by magic on a tray nearby. When he splashed in the pool, he was never alone for long.

"We should have your hair cut," she said, twirling a wisp of hair around her finger. "You'll look like a girl soon. And you're such a big boy."

When wet, his hair was hanging down all the way to his shoulders.

Robyn seemed to be forgotten, and he was glad to have been freed for the first time from the oversized shadow of an illusion.

Together they re-decorated Dad's office. He'd hardly used it anyway. His dissertations he wrote on the porch, assuming he was ever here. But he came back home more often than usual, signed off on the new room, which Robert had painted green and in which he could hang his model airplanes that had been gathering dust in the closet. His old, smaller room was locked. Once he asked Mom why she did, but she had made a mysterious face and said that curiosity did not only kill the cat.

During the period of decorating he was allowed to sleep in the big bed beside her. Before that, she had scolded him for doing so, and he guessed the reason. At night she often had cried and swallowed sleeping pills to get some rest. She had not wanted him to know about it. Nevertheless, he had found out when she had not appeared for breakfast. Strangely, adults always assumed children to have no eyes and ears.

Now, however, this seemed a long time away, and she described events from the life of his maternal grandparents, whom he had not come to know. From a distant time, she'd take out thick, dusty photo albums with black paper and cobweb-like pattern separators in between. Many of which were yellowed with age when scrolling through.

It was as if they were absorbed in a wonderland that only existed between the pages of the tattered books. Mom was a brilliant storyteller, and he even heard the voices of his late relatives when she imitated them in a funny accent.

Occasionally she was overwhelmed by sadness. He would weep with her, and then he tried to comfort her by assuring that Father Christopher had said God would take care of all the beloved passed away.

"You just have to believe in it firmly."

"Granny and Grandpa would be proud of you," she said.

Like Dad's family, they originally came from Europe. Granny had to migrate a long time ago as a young girl to Australia because they did not want her in her own country. Why, his mother would never tell him.

"When you get older maybe. It's a sad story. "

Since her evacuation, Granny had been in poor health, always sick with longing for the life she had had to give up. She had missed her parents, who could not come along with her to Australia. Shortly before Robert's birth, she died, with Grandpa following her six months later. That was actually sad enough in Robert's opinion.

As often as time allowed between his countless appointments around the globe, Dad showed up. He'd rarely talk to his son, and if so, at about the usual stuff, but he heard his parents talking in the living room until late. Different than usual, sometimes almost lovingly.

He had hoped that Dad, with Mom changed, gave up travelling around, or at least would reduce the number of his business trips. He would have time for him, he thought, but with mixed feelings. Up to that time he had seemed almost like an intruder when he visited a day or two only to be armed with a suitcase and stacks of files to rush to the next congress.

And he had fought against a knife in his chest that many years later he discovered as being jealousy.

When his father was at one of these upheavals, kissing her goodbye, teasing him, then pinched his cheek and reminded to take good care of Mom, he thought he was dreaming. In normal families, it was the father's duty to take care of her. After all, he was head of the family.

He also promised to let her not out of his sight. She was not sick, his father had explained to him, but perhaps a bit careless and whimsical in the next couple of months. He had to ensure that she didn't overdo it, helping her in the house. He could cook anyway, that was no problem. Smaller purchases, he took care of, since he knew the value of money which he had learned to understand sooner than other children. Mom had trained him well by making him familiar with a girl's duties.

To keep her in check was easier said than done. With her new set off energy, he could not compete. It was like she was awakened from a centuries-old sleep, and only now would notice how beautiful everything could be when looked at in the right ankle.

But sometimes he longed for the peaceful times of her now gone apathy. It was as if they had changed roles. He took full responsibility for her, and it was lasting heavy on his little shoulders. Once in a while it felt like to supervise a younger sister.

Her supply of sleeping pills had been confiscated by Dad before he left. Against her habit she didn't argue about it, but left Robert each night coming to him, and scattered them both with stories or old movies. Initially, it had been exciting, but with time, lack of sleep became apparent that he could not balance due to his important position as the man in the house. In the mornings, he'd hardly heard the ringing of the alarm clock and consequently was often late for school.

The day was short, and he took advantage of rare periods of resting during the day. Mom called him her little sloth, but she laughed.

Of course he was happy with her going to the city, and it filled him with joy when men looked at her and paying her compliments about her beauty.

She only flirted with him, bought him ice cream and even a pair of jeans of a trendy fashion label, and he felt very grown up.

But he had many other tasks to handle. Too many for an eight-year-old. His attention at school was dropping, and he often dozed off in the middle of the day.

The letters from the Dean that fluttered into the house, he started off in order to burn them. Mom should not be upset.

He had to be better in school, to work harder and give special care to the subjects. But he always was so tired that occasionally he dozed off with his head on his desk.

The room was not ready yet, but he preferred to sleep on a mattress in the unfurnished room. It didn't turn out as he'd planned. Sooner or later, Mom would call him to her room, said she had dreamed that something had happened to him and had to convince herself otherwise. When he pretended to be fast asleep, she would sneak in to him. Mostly, he slipped out of the room as soon as he knew that she did not notice it.

The regular meetings with the few friends he had, he had temporarily put on hold. Daniel dubbed him as a mama's boy, a nickname that soon got around and denounced him.

Nothing else he was, albeit in the opposite sense of the word. On the other hand, he believed that he only needed to keep a short time before Dad again took care of them, as to the time when he was still a baby. There were photos of the three of them which she showed to him and then furtively wiped her eyes.

He could not believe that the two adults were his parents. Mom had him in her arms while Dad stood behind his wife, his hands protectively on her shoulders. It could have been a stranger.

"Why doesn't Dad give a damn about us?"

"Oh, darling! Don't talk like that about your father." With both hands she ruffled his hair and rubbed her nose against his. "Daddy is a great doctor; he must travel a lot to heal as many people as possible. You understand that? It will be different soon, he promised me. "

His father could easily open up a practice here in Melbourne, and they were a real family. If they both made plans, Dad surely would return.

He was always tired, as if he had downed Moms sedatives. Once he fell asleep watching TV.

oOo

Suddenly he stiffened in House's arms panting. Startled, he loosened his grip, giving soothing sounds before he addressed him.

"What is it? Tell me. I need to hear everything."

"No," he whispered. "I can't."

"It's easier to deal with when you tell me. No matter what. I need to know what happened. "

oOo

The phone roused him from his afternoon nap. He immediately sensed that something terrible was going on. It was not ringing as usual before he could say his name, as on the other end of the line a monotone voice got through that he did not know. Like a robot. A chill covered his arms up to the scalp.

"Dr Rowan Chase?"

The phone felt greasy to his touch and almost slipped down to the floor. Mom was not here. He did not need to scour the room to know that she was gone. On the dresser there was a message that she had written.

_Doing some shopping in the city. No worries, big guy. Tonight we'll have the greatest Barbie ever. There is something to celebrate._

"He's in Thailand at a convention," he said, looking round the room. "I'm his son. I have his phone number." He wedged the phone between ear and shoulder, and with trembling fingers reached for a pen. Despite the turmoil, he remembered how he had to act in a colleague's call.

"Can I report to him when he returns?"

That would take another two weeks.

"Can I talk to someone else? An adult person maybe? I'm Dr Palmer of the Royal Melbourne Hospital."

Overwhelmed by an appalling premonition, he began to sob. "Mum," he cried into the phone. "Is my mum alright?"

oOo

Because he believed the bus to be too slow and did not have the nerve to wait for someone from the hospital, he jumped on his beach cruiser. How he managed to reach his destination without an accident, it was still a mystery. He could only explain that he had had a guardian angel who directed him safe through the evening rush hour.

His vision was clouded with tears, his lungs were burning in the wild sobbing breathing, and his feet were moving mechanically up to the pedals as if they went mad whirling by themselves. When a light turned red, he was evading to the sidewalk.

He waited and waited, gnawing his knuckles, at the surgical wing. Doctors and nurses offered him a snack and something to drink, but he wouldn't bring down anything until he knew about Mom. His questions were not answered in this regard, because he was not yet of legal age. Meanwhile, they had set contact with Dad.

She had not caught the streetcar and got stuck despondently in the automatic door. Fortunately, the driver had the presence of mind to turn the brakes in time, but she was dragged several meters and suffered second degree burns.

A nice lady took him to her office, asked him to lie down and urged him to shove down a little bitter pill despite his protests. He knew that, once he took it, he'd fall into a soothing blackness.

As he gradually regained consciousness, she squatted in front of him. Showing an afflicted smile, she reached out to help him get up.

"Your mum is awake. You don't have to worry, she'll be fine. Want to see her? "

Pale, fragile and still dazed from the anaesthesia she was resting with arms and legs bandaged in the big hospital bed; constant tears were streaming down her hollow cheeks. Bags with the label of a baby's store piled up on the visitor's chair. He spotted pink, tiny rompers in one of them.

It was not necessary to ask. His thoughts went roller-coaster. This was all about family growth. That was why Mom and Dad wanted to try it together again. The reason was to celebrate the arrival his new sibling. They wouldn't have tried for his sake.

Nevertheless, he was shaking with excitement. Something was wrong. She would have smiled through her tears if she now intended to reveal the great mystery. Instead, she beckoned him to come closer.

"My little Robyn."

With a lump in his throat, he hugged her.

oOo

"She lost the baby," he muttered. "Twelfth week. And I was fast asleep when it happened. I had promised to watch."

House did not ask whether the baby had been a boy or a girl. Gingerly, he grazed his lips over his smooth forehead, eyes, nose and trembling lips. Tracing his fingers along his cheekbones, he inhaled the youthful scent of his naked body.

Unable to put into words how much he was in dismay for Chase's sake, he was limited to physical comfort. Verbal solace was not enough. It would never be.

oOo

On the day of their departure, it was raining. Matching Chase's mood, the sun had rarely ventured out, hiding behind the clouds. But they still had time for a stroll downtown along the river Seine.

Chase was not to brighten up. He looked pale and withdrawn. Desperately, House was looking for a way to distract him from his gloomy thoughts.

"Chase," he said, "You have the choice between three wishes: a nameless goldfish, a floral printed top - that by the way would look gorgeous on you -, or a not always easy living with an obnoxious cripple who would like to be your family. "

Baffled, he turned to him, but he showed the smile for which he had longed all morning. In his timidity, it barely reached the corners of his mouth, but the view cleared bit by bit.

"You're screwing with me."

"On a regular basis." House smirked before pulling him in for a casual kiss on the temple. "Seems I'd made a lousy fairy. Don't you know that the third wish always comes true?"

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_Thanks for reading and reviewing! I'm having kind of a tough time right now, so please bear with me if I don't reply to your reviews / PMs at once. They are very much appreciated. xxx  
_


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